PHILIP 

The  Story  of  a 

Boy  Violinist 


ByT.W.O. 


LIBRARY 

University  of  California 

IRVINE^ 


PHILIP 


PHILIP 

The    Story    of  a    Boy   Violinist 


By 
T.  W. 


VT  CRE5CIT 


Lamson,  Wolffe   and   Company 
Boston,   New  York  and  London 


MDCCCXCVHI 


Copyright,  1898 
By  Lanason,  Wolffe  and  Company 

All  rights  reserved 


Jlorfcfaell  anfc 

BOSTON 


Contents 

Chapter  Page 

I.  Philip's  Home     ....            i 

II.     Dash 15 

III.  Philip's  Mother  ...          29 

IV.  Mag's  Story        ....         42 
V.  Philip's  Father               ...          56 

VI.  A  New  Friend    .          .          .         •          73 

VII.  A  Mining  Tragedy      ...          87 

VIII.  A  Great  Change           .          .          .106 

IX.  Trials  and  Pleasures     .          .                  1 20 

X.  Aunt  Delia's  Secret      .          .          .134 

XI.  A  Day  at  Ashden         .          .          .148 

XII.  The  Renewal  of  an  Acquaintance  .        163 

XIII.  Lord  Ashden's  Plan     .          .         .        175 

XIV.  Off  for  Italy       .         .          .         .190 
XV.     Drifting 210 

XVI.  Home  Again       ....        225 

XVII.  Marion      .....        240 

XVIII.  The  Concert       .         .         .         .254 

XIX.     Fire 271 

XX.     The  End 285 


Philip 

The  Story  of   a  Boy  Violinist 

Chapter  I 
Philip's  Home 
IS  days  were  nearly  all  spent  in  a 


H 


place  where  there  were  great 
heights  and  depths,  long  corridors  and 
galleries,  with  many  people  passing  to 
and  fro,  many  chambers  above  and 
below,  and  elevators  running  up  and 
down.  A  great  hotel,  do  you  say  ?  No, 
nothing  so  grand  or  pleasant  as  that, 
but  a  deep,  dark,  dismal  mine;  and 
there,  from  dawn  till  after  nightfall, 
Philip  and  his  mother  spent  the  long, 
sun-bright  days  in  a  sort  of  living  death. 
It  was  really  like  that,  for  what  is  life 
worth  in  a  place  where  the  sun  never 


2  Philip 

comes,  where  there  is  no  grass  nor 
flowers  nor  trees,  where  the  beautiful 
blue  sky  with  its  snow-white  flying 
cloudlets  or  great,  gray,  snow-capped 
cloud-mountains  cannot  be  seen,  and 
where  there  is  nothing  but  the  darkness 
of  night  all  the  day  long! 

But  Philip  was  quite  accustomed  to 
this  strange  underground  life,  and  as  he 
knew  nothing  of  anything  different  or 
better  he  was  as  happy  as  the  day  was 
long.  After  all,  our  lives  are  very 
much  what  we  make  them,  and  Philip 
was  blessed  with  a  very  sweet  and 
cheerful  nature,  which  could  make  its 
own  sunshine  even  at  the  bottom  of  a 
deep,  dark  mine;  he  had  beside  a  very 
strong  and  healthy  fancy,  and  he  had 
peopled  the  dark  recesses  of  the  mine 
with  all  kinds  of  imaginary  beings,  who 
were  real  companions  for  the  lonely 
child.  Instead,  however,  of  creating,  as 
some  foolish  children  would  have  done, 


Philip's  Home  3 

only  gnomes  and  goblins  to  inhabit  the 
deep  caverns  and  underground  cham- 
bers, Philip  chose  rather  to  pretend  that 
the  soft  sound  of  dropping  water,  which 
could  always  be  heard  if  one  listened, 
was  the  musical  language  of  the  coal- 
fairies  who  guarded  the  secrets  of  the 
mine,  a  language  which  only  those  who 
were  very  pure  and  good  could  under- 
stand. 

There  was  another  sprite  who  lived 
in  the  mine,  with  whom  Philip  used  to 
hold  long  conversations,  and  who  could 
always  reply  to  him,  although  the  an- 
swer was  sometimes  unsatisfactory;  this 
was  the  echo  of  his  own  voice,  and  one 
day  the  little  boy  lost  his  way  and 
caused  his  mother  great  alarm  by  fol- 
lowing this  mocking  voice  deep  into 
the  intricate  windings  of  an  unworked 
shaft.  He  found  his  way  out  again  on 
this  particular  occasion  by  the  aid  of 
some  other  spirit-friends  of  his,  the  little 


4  Philip 

lamps  or  candles  which  the  miners  carry 
in  their  hats.  At  a  distance  these  lights, 
glancing  here  and  there  as  the  men 
moved  about  their  work,  looked  exactly 
like  large  fireflies,  and  it  was  by  fol- 
lowing these  and  answering  the  friendly 
voices  of  the  miners  who  shouted  direc- 
tions to  him  that  Philip  found  his  way 
back  to  his  mother's  side  again. 

And  so  you  see  that  Philip  led  what 
I  suppose  most  boys  and  girls  would 
have  called  a  very  hard  and  lonely  life, 
for  he  had  few  companions  of  his 
own  age,  and  spent  most  of  the  time 
which  other  children  have  for  play  in 
sober  work,  yet  he  was  quite  happy  and 
contented;  and  indeed  he  was  much 
more  fortunate  than  many  of  the  people 
about  him,  who  did  not,  like  him,  come 
up  when  the  day  was  over,  but  who 
spent  days  and  sometimes  weeks  or 
months  down  in  the  darkness  of  the 
mine,  with  never  a  glimpse  of  the 


Philip's  Home  5 

blessed  light  of  day,  except  what  little 
could  be  seen  from  the  long  well-like 
shaft,  up  and  down  which  went  the 
buckets  or  elevators  by  which  the  miners 
were  carried  to  and  from  their  work. 
But  when  Philip's  day  in  the  mine  was 
over  he  had  only  to  step  aboard  the 
rough  elevator  which  carried  the  miners 
up  and  down,  and  looking  upward,  as 
he  always  did  on  this  journey  back  to 
the  outer  world,  he  could  see  the  tall 
derrick  which  pointed  skyward  from 
the  mouth  of  the  shaft  like  a  black 
finger  grow  gradually  more  distinct 
against  the  blue  sky,  and  then  in  a 
moment  more  he  would  come  out  into 
the  daylight  once  again. 

The  bright  sunshine  always  hurt 
his  eyes  at  first,  but  how  pleasant  and 
warm  it  seemed  after  the  damp  twilight 
down  below!  And  how  glorious  it 
was  to  be  able  to  run  straight  ahead 
for  miles  without  being  obliged  to 


6  Philip 

stoop  beneath  low,  dripping  walls,  or 
to  squeeze  through  narrow  openings 
into  close,  rocky  chambers  where  the 
stagnant  air  made  one  cough  and  choke ! 
It  was  almost  worth  while,  Philip 
thought,  to  spend  eight  hours  of  the 
day  away  from  this  beautiful  world  of 
nature  in  order  to  come  back  to  it 
again  each  afternoon. 

"  Do  ye  think,  mother  dear,"  he 
said  thoughtfully,  one  beautiful  summer 
evening  as  they  were  walking  home 
together  through  a  field  gay  and  fra- 
grant with  innumerable  wild  flowers, 
—  "  do  ye  think  that  heaven  can  be  a 
nicer  place  than  this  ?  " 

His  mother  smiled  at  her  boy's 
earnest  question,  and  laid  her  hard, 
rough  hand  on  his  curly  head  in  a  lov- 
ing way  she  had.  "  I  reckon  it  is,  my 
little  lad,"  she  said,  "  though  we  can't 
quite  think  of  it;  but  they  says  the 
flowers  there  never  wither  nor  die,  and 


Philip's  Home  7 

the  sky  is  always  blue,  not  lowering 
and  black  as  our  sky  is  sometimes  — 
ye  mind  how  it  looked  before  the  thun- 
der-storm last  night.  The  pleasures  in 
that  land  will  leave  no  ugly  sting  be- 
hind them,  folks  tells  us,  as  they  does 
here  'most  always." 

She  spoke  with  a  sad  wistfulness  in 
her  voice  which  Philip  was  quick  to 
notice,  and  he  slipped  his  little  hand 
into  hers  and  looked  up  into  her  face 
with  troubled  eyes. 

"Tell  me,  mother  dear,"  he  said 
gently,  "why  you  are  always  so  sad 
when  we  cross  this  field,  especially  in 
daisy  time.  Is  it  because  my  father 
used  to  walk  here  with  you  in  the 
time  ye  said  ye  was  used  be  happy  ?  " 

How  marvellously  wise  love  makes 
us  all!  Philip's  mother  looked  down 
at  him  wonderingly. 

"However  did  the  lad  guess?"  she 
said  as  though  to  herself;  "  for  it  was  in 


8  Philip 

this  very  field  we  used  to  wander  in 
those  happy,  foolish  days.  Oh,  it  would 
have  been  far  better  had  we  never  "  — 
she  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but 
broke  off  quite  suddenly,  telling  Philip 
to  run  on  ahead;  and  the  boy  did  as  he 
was  bidden,  but  half  reluctantly,  for 
although  he  seldom  spoke  of  his  father, 
feeling  instinctively  that  the  subject 
was  a  painful  one  to  his  mother,  yet 
he  thought  about  him  very  often,  pon- 
dering as  children  will  upon  a  theme 
not  understood  or  only  half  explained. 
He  knew  that  his  father  was  dead  —  so 
much  his  mother  had  told  him ;  and 
many  a  time  he  had  heard  her  say  that 
if  it  were  not  for  her  boy  she  could  find 
it  in  her  heart  to  wish  herself  dead  too. 
He  also  knew  that  a  locket  which  his 
mother  always  wore  on  a  chain  about 
her  neck  contained  a  portrait  which 
she  had  once  shown  to  him,  and  which 
she  had  told  him  was  a  perfect  like- 


Philip's  Home  9 

ness  of  his  father.  Philip  looked  won- 
deringly  at  the  face  of  the  handsome 
young  gentleman,  who  had  clustering 
curls  like  his  own,  but  whose  clothes 
were  of  a  cut  and  texture  quite  unlike 
those  worn  by  the  men  whom  Philip 
saw  every  day;  and  then  as  his  glance 
had  fallen  upon  his  mother  in  her 
rough  dress,  he  said  with  a  kind  of 
awe,  "What  fine  clothes  my  father 
wore,  didn't  he,  mother  dear?" 

And  his  mother  had  snatched  the 
miniature  almost  fiercely  from  his  hand, 
saying  proudly: 

"Of  course  he  did,  lad;  your  father 
was  a  gentleman" 

A  gentleman!  Philip  thought  of  it 
often  afterward,  wondering  what  his 
mother  could  have  meant,  for  the  only 
gentlemen  the  boy  had  ever  seen  lived 
in  fine  houses,  and  their  wives  rode  in 
carriages  and  wore  silk  dresses  and 
fine  bonnets,  while  their  home  was  a 


io  Philip 

humble  miner's  cottage,  and  his  mother 
—  and  then  Philip,  half  ashamed  of  the 
thought,  had  run  and  put  his  arms  about 
his  mother's  neck  and  smoothed  the 
coarse  cotton  cloth  of  her  dress  with 
his  loving  hands,  telling  himself  that 
although  she  did  not  wear  the  fine 
clothes  of  a  lady,  yet  she  was  as  sweet 
and  beautiful  and  good  as  any  lady  in 
the  land. 

It  never  occurred  to  Philip  to  wonder 
that  Mag  (the  only  name  by  which  his 
mother  was  known)  could  neither  read 
nor  write,  for  the  people  who  lived  all 
about  them,  and  who  spent  the  greater 
part  of  their  lives  in  the  mine,  were  of 
course  very  ignorant,  there  being  no 
such  things  in  those  days  as  compul- 
sory education  or  laws  forbidding  child- 
labor  in  the  mines.  Philip,  therefore, 
at  ten  years  of  age  did  not  know  a 
single  letter  of  the  alphabet,  and  had 
seen  only  one  or  two  books  in  his  life. 


Philip's  Home  n 

But  although  his  mother  was  no  wiser 
than  her  child  so  far  as  books  went, 
she  seemed  somehow  to  have  gained  a 
strange  knowledge  of  life  ;  indeed,  no 
one  could  look  at  her  without  feeling 
sure  that  she  had  loved  and  felt  and 
suffered  much.  She  was  a  large,  grand- 
looking  young  woman,  with  a  face  and 
figure  like  a  Greek  statue,  and  she  was 
almost  as  silent.  Philip  had  never 
heard  her  laugh,  and  she  seldom  talked 
with  the  miners  or  joined  in  their  rough 
merriment  and  sometimes  rather  coarse 
jokes.  In  reply  to  their  greetings  or 
questions  she  always  gave  short,  civil 
enough  answers,  never  voluntarily  pro- 
longing the  conversation.  But  her 
silence  was  never  sullen,  and  they  all 
seemed  to  understand  her  ;  indeed, 
there  was  not  one  of  them  who  would 
not  gladly  have  done  her  a  good  turn, 
and  she  always  acknowledged  their 
favors  gratefully. 


12  Philip 

It  was  often  remarked  that  she 
seemed  to  take  a  sort  of  fierce  pleasure 
in  doing  the  hardest  and  roughest 
kinds  of  work,  labor  which  usually  was 
given  only  to  the  men;  but  she  was 
still  young  and  very  strong,  and  it  may 
have  been  that  she  dreaded  the  time 
for  thought  which  idleness  might  have 
brought.  At  any  rate,  she  chose  the 
work  and  labored  faithfully  and  pa- 
tiently for  the  wages  which  supported 
her  father  and  child. 

Philip  was  constantly  with  his 
mother,  and  as  he  was  a  trifle  shy 
and  made  few  friends  among  the  rough 
boys  and  girls  of  the  neighborhood,  he 
seemed  to  have  concentrated  all  the 
affection  of  his  warm  little  heart  upon 
Mag,  who  loved  him  in  return  with  a 
passionate  devotion. 

Philip  and  Mag  and  her  old  father 
were  happy  together  in  their  humble 
home,  which,  although  it  was  precisely 


Philip's  Home  13 

the  same  as  all  the  other  huts  which 
were  huddled  together  around  the 
opening  of  the  mine,  had  about  it 
an  unusual  air  of  comfort  and  refine- 
ment. There  were  white  curtains  at 
the  small  windows,  a  honeysuckle 
climbed  over  the  porch,  and  at  one 
side  was  a  small  garden,  where  it  was 
Philip's  delight  to  work  with  his  grand- 
father; it  was  always  gay  with  flowers, 
which  seemed  to  thrive  in  spite  of  the 
poor  soil,  and  there  were  vegetables  and 
berries  too,  which  often  found  their  way 
to  the  tables  of  less  fortunate  neighbors. 
Within  the  cottage  were  a  few  small 
comforts  not  usually  to  be  found  in  the 
miners'  dwellings,  a  square  or  two 
of  carpet,  faded  and  worn,  but  warm 
and  comfortable  under  the  feet  on 
cold  nights,  a  red  table-cover  to  re- 
place the  white  one  used  for  meals 
(a  most  unusual  luxury),  and  a  lamp 
with  a  colored  silk  shade.  There  was 


14  Philip 

besides  an  easy-chair  or  two,  and  in  one 
corner  a  plain  oak  writing-desk  which 
was  regarded  by  the  neighbors  with 
some  awe ;  it  was  carefully  locked,  and 
Philip  had  often  wondered  where  the 
key  which  fitted  it  might  be,  but  some- 
how he  had  always  hesitated  to  ask, 
feeling,  perhaps  almost  instinctively, 
that  the  explanation  might  cause  his 
mother  pain  or  embarrassment. 


Chapter    II 
Dash 

NEXT  to  Mag  and  his  grandfather 
Philip  loved  his  dog  Dash  better 
than  anything  else  in  the  world.  He 
was  a  ragged  little  terrier  with  a  head 
much  too  large  for  his  body,  a  short 
stump  of  a  tail,  and  an  awkward  way 
of  getting  under  people's  feet  and  of 
tumbling  all  over  himself  when  he 
ran  ;  but  he  was  a  marvel  of  faithful- 
ness and  affection,  and  could  do  a  mul- 
titude of  the  clever  tricks  which  Philip 
delighted  to  teach  him. 

He  had  come  to  the  door  of  the  cot- 
tage one  wild,  stormy  night,  and  had 
wailed  so  piteously  outside  that  Mag 
said  at  last: 

15 


16  Philip 

"  Go,  Philip,  lad,  unbolt  the  door  ;  it 
is  likely  some  poor  dog  perishing  in 
the  storm.  We  are  not  so  poor  but  we 
can  give  the  poor  thing  food  and  shelter 
for  the  night." 

So  Philip  ran  and  opened  the  door, 
and  the  little  dog  ran  in  and  cowered 
shivering  before  the  fire;  he  was  very 
wet  and  dirty,  and  so  thin  that  the 
bones  in  his  poor  little  body  stood  out 
in  a  way  that  was  quite  pitiful  to  see; 
he  had  a  jagged  end  of  rope  about  his 
neck,  as  though  he  had  broken  away 
from  some  place  of  confinement;  his 
feet  were  cut  and  bleeding,  as  though 
he  had  travelled  a  long  distance;  and 
he  had  a  general  air  of  being  quite  done 
up  and  exhausted. 

Philip  brought  him  some  food  and 
water,  and  you  should  have  seen  the 
look  of  gratitude  in  the  creature's  eyes 
as  he  wagged  his  poor  little  stump  of  a 
tail,  stopping  now  and  then,  hungry  as  he 


Dash  17 

was,  to  lick  the  kind  hand  that  fed  him. 
Philip  made  a  comfortable  bed  for  him 
beside  the  fire,  but  next  morning  when 
he  awoke  and  sat  up  in  his  own  little 
bed,  which  stood  beside  his  mother's, 
there  was  his  small  new  friend  sitting 
gravely  beside  him,  quietly  waiting 
for  him  to  awake.  Later,  when  Mag 
missed  her  little  boy  from  her  side,  she 
discovered  him,  still  in  his  night- 
clothes,  rolling  about  on  the  floor,  in 
play  with  the  dog. 

"Oh,  mother  I"  he  cried  when  she 
called  to  him,  "  please  may  I  keep  him 
for  my  very  own?  Only  see  how  we 
love  each  other  already!" 

And  Mag,  her  great  love  for  her  boy 
shining  in  her  dark  eyes,  laid  her  hand 
kindly  on  the  little  dog's  shaggy  head. 

"  Sure,  ye  may  keep  the  creature, 
Philip,"  she  said,  "  provided  his  proper 
owner  does  na'  call  for  him." 

But  no  one  ever  came  to  claim  him, 


1 8  Philip 

and  from  that  day  Philip  and  Dash  were 
inseparable,  except  during  the  hours 
when  Philip  was  down  in  the  mine 
with  his  mother;  there  the  dog  was  not 
allowed  to  follow  his  young  master, 
but  he  would  go  with  him  every  morn- 
ing to  the  entrance  of  the  shaft,  and 
stand  looking  down,  after  the  car 
which  carried  the  miners  to  their  work 
had  started  on  its  downward  journey. 
When  it  was  quite  out  of  sight  he 
would  turn  with  a  whimper  and  trot 
home  again  with  a  business-like  air, 
seldom  stopping  to  play  with  other 
dogs  by  the  way,  and  staying  very 
quietly  and  obediently  with  the  old 
grandfather  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 
But  at  the  exact  hour  when  it  was  to 
be  expected  that  the  car  would  come 
up  again  from  the  mine,  bringing  the 
men,  with  Philip  and  his  mother,  there 
would  be  Dash  waiting  for  them,  and 
ready  to  escort  them  home  each  night 


Dash  19 

with  as  much  joy  as  though  he  had  not 
seen  them  for  a  month.  No  one  ever 
knew  how  the  little  fellow  could  always 
be  sure  of  the  exact  time  when  Philip 
might  be  expected,  but  he  was  never 
known  to  be  late,  except  on  one  occa- 
sion when  his  grandfather  had  gone  to 
a  neighbor's,  leaving  Dash  locked  in  the 
cottage.  He  must  have  managed  to 
climb  out  of  the  window,  which  was 
several  feet  above  the  ground,  for  he 
came  galloping  down  the  road  just  as 
the  miners  were  saying  : 

"  Ah,  Philip,  lad,  thy  friend  is  failing 
thee  the  night." 

Dash  came  by  his  name  in  quite  an 
extraordinary  way. 

"  Ye  may  depend  upon  it,  such  a 
clever  dog  has  a  handle  to  him  al- 
ready," said  Philip's  grandfather  when 
the  boy  suggested  that  his  pet  should 
have  a  name. 

"  But  however  could  we  guess  the 


2O  Philip 

right  one  ? "  said  Philip  doubtfully. 
Nevertheless  he  began  to  mention  over 
in  the  little  animal's  hearing  several 
names  common  to  dogs,  such  as  Rover, 
Gyp,  Sport,  and  the  like,  while  his 
dumb  playmate  stood  before  him,  wag- 
ging his  short  tail  as  much  as  to  say: 

"  I  wish  I  could  help  you,  master, 
but  you  haven't  struck  it  yet,  my  boy." 

Mag  was  sitting  as  usual  by  the 
table  with  the  lamp,  sewing  quietly,  but 
though  she  said  little  she  would  glance 
up  now  and  then  from  her  work  and 
look  lovingly  at  the  little  group  before 
the  fire.  Suddenly  she  spoke :  "  I  have 
thought  of  a  name  for  the  dog,"  she  said. 
"Perhaps  he  may  be  called  —  Dash." 
She  spoke  the  name  emphatically,  with 
a  slight  pause  before  it,  and  instantly 
the  dog  flew  to  her  side  as  though  she 
had  called  him,  and  stood  wagging  his 
tail  and  looking  from  Mag  to  Philip, 
saying  as  plainly  as  a  dog  could: 


Dash  21 

"  That's  my  name  —  did  you  call  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  mother! "  said  Philip,  clapping 
his  hands  with  delight  and  surprise, 
"  that  is  his  name,  I  am  sure  of  it  —  only 
see  how  knowing  he  looks!  Here, 
Dash!  Dash!" 

"  Here,  Dash !  Dash !  "  echoed  Mag, 
ajmost  smiling  with  the  pleasure  and 
excitement  which  she  shared  with  her 
little  son;  and  the  dog  ran  wildly  from 
one  to  the  other,  barking  and  frisking 
about  for  joy,  as  though  delighted  to  be 
no  longer  a  stray  and  nameless  cur,  but 
a  dog  with  a  name,  and  therefore  with 
some  claim  to  respectability. 

"  However  did  you  guess  it,  mother?  " 
asked  Philip  afterward. 

"  I  don't  know  exactly,  myself,"  said 
Mag,  "unless  it  is,"  she  added  slyly, 
"that  your  friends  the  coal  fairies 
whispered  the  name  in  my  ear."  And 
Philip  blushed,  for  he  was  secretly  a 
little  ashamed  of  what  he  felt  to  be 


22  Philip 

rather  foolish  sport  for  a  boy  who  was 
earning  his  four  shillings  a  week  in 
the  mine. 

From  this  time  on  Philip  was  never 
conscious  of  the  lack  of  companionship, 
which,  in  the  days  before  Dash  came, 
he  had  sometimes  felt  so  sadly;  for 
from  henceforth  he  had  a  constant 
playfellow,  who  was  always  sweet- 
tempered  and  eager  to  frolic  and  play, 
yet  ready  too,  at  a  sign  from  his  young 
master,  to  lie  quietly  down  beside  him 
when  Philip  was  tired  of  playing  and 
wanted  to  pore  over  his  books;  for 
although  the  boy  could  not  read,  yet 
it  was  his  chief  delight  to  look  at  the 
pictures  in  some  volumes  which  he 
had  found  one  day  packed  carefully 
away  in  an  old  trunk,  and  which  Mag 
told  him  had  belonged  to  his  father. 
There  were  fortunately  many  illustra- 
tions in  these  books,  and  he  had  his 
own  way  of  enjoying  them,  by  making 


Dash  23 

up  stories  for  the  pictures  as  he  went 
along,  to  Dash,  who  was  a  most  atten- 
tive listener,  and  who  really  seemed  to 
enjoy  the  recital  quite  as  much  as  Philip. 
He  would  lie  quite  still  before  the  fire, 
with  his  black  nose  thrust  in  between 
the  pages  of  the  book,  and  his  sharp, 
bright  eyes  fixed  attentively  on  Philip's 
face;  occasionally  he  would  thump  con- 
tentedly on  the  floor  with  his  tail,  and  at 
such  times  Mag  would  look  up  from  her 
work  to  smile  lovingly  at  her  boy,  as  in 
a  low  voice  he  would  weave  his  pretty 
fancies  about  the  pictures;  sometimes, 
too,  she  would  break  in  with  suggestions. 
"  I  think  I  could  help  ye  there, 
Philip,"  she  would  say.  "  I  remember 
your  father  told  me  summat  about  that 
picture ;  it  was  one  he  was  always  over- 
fond  of,  an'  sometimes  he  would  try  to 
tell  me  about  what  was  in  the  books. 
I  wish  I  could  remember  better  for 
your  sake,  my  lad." 


24  Philip 

It  was  really  pathetic  to  see  with 
what  attention  she  had  tried  to  follow 
the  narrative  or  explanation,  and  it 
was  quite  wonderful  how  much  of  the 
recital  she  could  recall,  in  almost  the 
exact  words  in  which  she  had  heard  it. 

"  How  clever  my  father  must  have 
been!"  said  Philip  thoughtfully,  and 
Mag  would  reply  proudly. 

"Of  course  he  was,  lad;  he  could 
read  out  of  the  book  just  as  smooth  as 
talking." 

And  then  she  would  usually  lapse 
into  silence  again,  and  perhaps  say  no 
more  that  evening.  And  Philip  loved 
his  father's  books,  and  longed  to  be 
able  to  master  their  contents. 

One  of  the  overseers  at  the  mine, 
who  was  regarded  as  quite  a  scholar 
by  the  ignorant  miners,  had  noticed 
Philip's  interest  in  the  newspaper 
which  he  sometimes  brought  down 
into  the  mine  to  be  glanced  over  at 


Dash  25 

odd  moments  when  the  men  were  all 
at  work  around  him  and  he  had  little 
to  do  but  keep  a  general  eye  on  the 
others.  One  day  in  a  burst  of  kindly 
feeling  he  pointed  out  some  of  the  let* 
ters  in  the  head-lines  of  the  paper  to 
Philip,  and  explained  how,  when  put 
together,  they  made  words  and  sen- 
tences. Finding  the  boy  an  apt  pupil 
and  very  eager  to  learn,  he  became 
quite  interested  in  teaching  him  to 
read,  in  much  the  same  way  as  he 
might  have  found  amusement  in  train- 
ing an  intelligent  dog  to  fetch  and 
carry,  or  to  stand  up  and  beg.  To 
Philip  this  opened  a  whole  world 
of  wonder  and  delight.  To  be  sure 
he  did  not  learn  at  once,  and  some- 
times weeks  would  pass  when  his 
friend  would  find  no  time  to  teach  him ; 
but  the  boy  waited  patiently,  and 
meanwhile  he  had  his  own  way  of  en- 
joying the  gradual  acquaintance  which 


26  Philip 

he  was  making  with  the  great  Alpha- 
bet Family,  from  A,  the  dignified  and 
rather  stern  father,  and  B,  the  fat, 
good-natured  mother  of  the  flock, 
down  to  the  youngest  letter  of  the 
family,  funny  little  crooked  Baby  Z. 

Every  evening  during  the  time  of 
those  first  lessons  in  the  rudiments  of 
learning,  Philip  could  scarcely  wait  to 
get  home,  so  anxious  was  he  to  tell 
Dash  of  the  new  letters  which  he  had 
learned  from  the  overseer's  paper. 

"  Isn't  it  funny,  Dash  ? "  he  would 
say.  "  Here  is  M — him  I  have  known 
quite  well  for  over  a  week,  and  always 
thought  he  was  a  very  well-behaved 
and  polite  young  letter,  and  here  to- 
day, right  in  the  middle  of  a  page,  I 
find  him  standing  on  his  head;  and  — 
did  ye  ever  see  the  like  ? — he's  changed 
his  name  and  calls  himself  W.  And 
then  here  is  O  —  I  always  knew  him 
the  minute  I  saw  him.  He  seems 


Dash  27 

almost  to  jump  out  at  me  from  the 
page,  he's  that  round  and  fat  and  easy 
to  remember;  and  now  only  see  here, 
Dash,  they  have  gone  and  put  a  little 
handle  on  him,  something  like  your 
tail,  you  see,  and  now  he  is  called  Q." 

So  Dash  and  Philip  studied  the  alpha- 
bet together,  and  the  little  boy,  from 
weaving  fancies  about  the  letters  and 
the  pictures  in  his  father's  books,  came 
to  have  long  waking  dreams,  which 
were  so  beautiful  that  he  longed  to  tell 
his  mother  about  them;  but  somehow 
when  he  tried  to  put  them  into  words, 
Mag  did  not  seem  to  understand,  but 
would  only  shake  her  head  and  say 
kindly: 

"  Thy  head  grows  dull,  Philip,  from 
sitting  so  much  in  the  house.  Go  now 
an'  have  a  run  with  Dash  in  the  fresh 


air." 


And  sometimes  when  Philip  would 
be  loath  to  leave  his  book,  his  mother 


28  Philip 

would  shake  her  head  more  decidedly, 
and  perhaps  push  him  gently  out  of 
the  house,  closing  the  door  behind  him; 
while  Philip,  knowing  that  it  was  only 
love  which  prompted  her  seeming  harsh- 
ness, would  shake  himself  out  of  his 
dreamy  mood,  and  cry,  "  Come,  Dash, 
mother  is  right;  let's  have  a  race.  One, 
two,  three!  Go!  "  And  away  they 
would  both  scamper. 


Chapter  III 
Philip's  Mother 

"  I  "HE  winter  that  Dash  came  to  the 
J.  cottage  where  Philip  lived  with 
his  mother  and  grandfather  was  a  very 
long  and  hard  one.  A  great  political 
crisis  had,  in  some  mysterious  way, 
affected  the  price  of  coal;  there  were 
long  weeks  when  only  half  the  usual 
number  of  men  were  employed  in  the 
mines,  and  this  meant  that  many  little 
children  in  the  miners'  cottages  went 
often  supperless  to  bed,  while  the  men 
would  gather  in  groups  in  the  street 
and  talk  gloomily  of  the  hard  times, 
which  seemed  to  offer  little  hope  of 
improvement.  There  was  much  illness 

in  the  town,  too ;  a  season  of  unusual 
39 


30  Philip 

rain  and  fog,  less  fire  than  usual  to 
keep  the  chill  out  of  the  houses,  and 
constitutions  weakened  by  anxiety  and 
lack  of  food  made  ready  a  fertile 
soil  for  the  fever  which  attacked  and 
carried  off  many  scores  of  victims, 
especially  among  the  little  children  and 
the  aged ;  the  good  village  doctor  was 
kept  busy  day  and  night,  and  his  old- 
fashioned  hooded  phaeton,  with  its 
patient  old  gray  horse  which  all  the 
children  in  the  village  knew  and  petted, 
might  be  seen  constantly  going  back 
and  forth  from  house  to  house,  some- 
times until  quite  late  into  the  night. 

Mag  was  one  of  the  few  who  had 
steady  work,  but  her  wages  had  been 
reduced  one-half,  and  with  all  her 
clever  management  it  was  sometimes 
difficult  to  keep  the  little  household 
warmed  and  fed.  Philip's  earnings  had 
ceased  altogether,  and  although  he  had 
more  time  above-ground,  yet  he  would 


Philip's  Mother  31 

gladly  have  exchanged  this  unaccus- 
tomed freedom  for  the  toil  which 
would  have  brought  a  few  extra  com- 
forts into  their  little  home.  It  made 
his  tender  heart  ache,  too,  to  see  the 
lines  of  anxiety  grow  each  day  deeper 
on  the  faces  of  Mag  and  his  grand- 
father; often  when  he  was  playing  with 
Dash  he  would  find  his  mother's  eyes 
fastened  upon  them  both,  with  a  sad 
intensity  which  would  sometimes  lead 
him  to  run  to  her  and  put  his  little  arms 
close  about  her  neck,  whispering : 

"Don't  worry,  mother  dear;  God  will 
take  care  of  us."  And  on  these  occa- 
sions Dash  would  always  join  the 
group,  thrusting  his  cold  nose  into  their 
faces,  and  making  it  so  evident  that  he 
shared  their  distress  that  they  would 
laugh  in  spite  of  themselves  at  his 
awkward  efforts  to  express  his  affec- 
tion and  sympathy. 

Dearly  as  he  loved  her,  Philip  stood 


32  Philip 

in  awe  of  his  silent  mother,  and  he 
used  sometimes  to  wonder  in  his  child- 
ish way  why  it  was  that  even  when 
work  had  been  plenty  and  wages  high 
she  was  still  so  sad  and  grave,  so 
unlike  her  noisy,  gossipy  neighbors, 
who  he  noticed  used  sometimes  to 
shake  their  heads  as  though  in  kindly 
pity  when  she  passed  their  doors  on 
her  way  to  work.  Philip  had  heard 
the  miners,  too,  say  as  they  looked 
after  her  retreating  figure: 
"  Poor  lass !  Poor  Maggie ! " 
But  whatever  the  sorrow  that  had 
darkened  her  life,  she  never  allowed  it 
to  blind  her  to  the  troubles  of  others, 
and  her  neighbors  seemed  to  under- 
stand this,  for  if  ever  sickness  or  ac- 
cident befell  any  of  them,  who  so  quick 
as  Mag  to  help  or  befriend?  Many  a 
blessing  followed  her  that  winter  as, 
her  work  for  the  day  finished,  she 
would  hurry  from  house  to  house  on 


Philip's  Mother  33 

countless  errands  of  mercy,  often  go- 
ing quietly  without  her  supper,  that 
some  little  delicacy  prepared  by  her 
own  hands  might  find  its  way  to  an 
ailing  neighbor.  Philip  noticed  that 
when  his  mother  returned  from  these 
kind  errands  she  always  seemed  more 
contented  than  usual,  and  the  happiest 
time  in  the  whole  day  was  when,  her 
bonnet  removed  and  her  shawl  neatly 
folded  and  laid  away,  she  would  light 
the  evening  lamp  and  sit  quietly  down 
to  her  sewing,  while  her  father  dozed 
contentedly  in  his  chair  before  the  fire 
(sometimes,  alas!  a  feeble  enough 
blaze)  and  Philip  and  Dash  played 
happily  together  on  the  hearth. 

Philip  never  remembered  but  one 
occasion  when  his  mother  had  spoken 
to  him  other  than  very  gently,  but  that 
once  he  never  forgot.  It  was  an  even- 
ing when,  tired  of  romping  with  Dash, 
the  little  boy  had  curled  up  before  the 


34  philiP 

fire  with  a  picture-book  which  had  been 
loaned  to  him  by  the  overseer's  child. 
It  was  a  rare  treat,  and  Philip  soon  be- 
came quite  absorbed  in  this  new  object 
of  interest.  But  Dash  was  determined 
not  to  be  cheated  out  of  his  usual  half 
hour  of  play  with  his  young  master,  and 
after  waiting  as  long  as  he  thought  that 
even  the  best-behaved  dog  could  be  ex- 
pected to  do,  he  began  to  pull  at  Philip's 
sleeve  as  though  to  say:  "Come,  old 
fellow.  Time's  up,  you  know!" 

But  as  Philip  paid  no  attention  to  this, 
he  began  to  bark  and  frisk  about  him  in 
such  a  lively  and  disturbing  manner 
that  Philip  pushed  him  away  several 
times,  saying, "  Down,  Dash,"  in  a  vexed 
and  impatient  voice;  but  the  little  dog 
persisted  in  teasing  and  annoying  him 
all  the  more  for  being  rebuffed,  and  at 
last  Philip  grew  angry,  and  struck  and 
kicked  the  dog  several  times.  Dash 
was  so  astonished  at  this  unusual  be- 


Philip's  Mother  35 

havior  that  for  a  moment  he  stood  look- 
ing at  his  master  in  silent  reproach, 
and  then  he  turned  sadly  away,  and  ran, 
yelping  and  whining,  to  Mag.  She 
turned  and  caught  her  little  son  by  the 
arm,  holding  him  so  tightly  that  he 
cried  out  in  surprise  and  pain.  His 
mother's  great  sorrowful  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  him  with  an  expression  so  unusual 
that  he  remembered  it  long  afterward. 
She  was  very  pale  as  she  cried: 

"  Shame  on  ye,  Philip  lad,  to  hurt  the 
brute  that  loves  ye  an'  canna'  strike 
back!  Oh,  Philip,  Philip,  ye  must  keep 
down  that  temper,  my  little  lad,  or  it 
will  bring  you  to  the  woe  that's  wear- 
ing me  out." 

She  sank  into  a  chair,  covering  her 
face  with  her  trembling  hands,  and 
rocking  herself  to  and  fro  as  she  said 
softly,  and  as  though  speaking  to  herself: 

"  Oh,  Mag,  ye  have  given  your  own 
wicked  temper  to  the  child,  to  be  a 


36  Philip 

curse  to  him  as  it  has  been  to  your- 
self!" 

She  dropped  her  hands  at  her  side 
and  gazed  at  Philip  with  such  mourn- 
ful eyes  that  although  he  could  not 
understand  the  meaning  of  her  words, 
he  was  frightened  and  shrank  into  his 
corner,  his  face  burning  with  shame 
and  remorse.  Dash  had  stood  looking 
from  one  to  the  other,  as  though 
bewildered  by  such  a  strange  scene,  and 
presently  he  crept  up  to  Philip,  thrust- 
ing his  nose  timidly  into  the  boy's  hand, 
as  much  as  to  say: 

"Don't  feel  so  badly,  Philip.  I  know 
you  didn't  mean  to  hurt  me,  and  it  was 
mean  to  tease  you  when  I  knew  you 
wanted  to  read.  Come,  let  bygones  be 
bygones  —  that's  my  motto." 

And  Philip  patted  his  rough  head, 
and  the  companions  felt  that  they  had 
been  mutually  understood  and  forgiven. 
But  with  Mag  it  was  different.  She 


Philip's  Mother  37 

took  up  her  sewing  again,  to  be  sure, 
and  went  on  with  her  work  as  usual, 
but  she  paid  no  heed  to  Philip's  timid 
efforts  to  explain  and  ask  forgiveness. 
Indeed,  she  seemed  not  to  see  him,  for 
her  thoughts  had  wandered  apparently 
far  away;  and  after  a  while  Philip  stole 
off  to  bed,  wondering  sadly  why  his 
fit  of  ill-temper  should  have  so  strangely 
moved  his  silent  mother. 

The  next  morning  Mag  seemed  still 
constrained  and  unhappy,  and  went 
about  her  work  in  an  absent-minded 
way,  scarcely  heeding  Philip's  timid 
efforts  at  conversation;  so  shortly  after 
breakfast  he  stole  quietly  out  of  the 
house  with  Dash.  They  did  not  return 
until  dinner-time,  and  as  they  approached 
the  house  Philip  perceived  with  a  sink- 
ing of  the  heart  that  the  good  doctor's 
carriage  was  fastened  to  the  gate-post 
in  front  of  their  little  cottage.  He  flew 
rather  than  ran  the  remainder  of  the 


38  Philip 

distance,  and  his  mother  met  him  at  the 
door,  a  warning  finger  on  her  lip. 

"  Hush ! "  she  said ;  "  your  grandfather 
is  ill.  I  saw  he  was  not  over-well  this 
week  past,  and  this  morning  he  could 
not  eat;  so  when  I  saw  the  doctor  pass, 
I  hailed  him  in.  I  fear  —  it  may  be  — 
the  fever." 

She  spoke  with  a  catch  in  her  voice, 
but  she  tried  to  smile  as  she  put  her 
arm  around  Philip  with  more  than  her 
usual  tenderness  and  drew  him  into 
the  house.  The  doctor  was  coming 
out  of  the  sick  man's  room,  and  he  was 
looking  rather  grave;  but  he  said  little, 
only  leaving  some  powders,  with  direc- 
tions as  to  food  and  other  matters, 
promising  to  call  again  later  in  the  day. 
The  old  man  grew  no  worse,  however, 
and  indeed  in  a  few  days  he  persisted 
in  leaving  his  bed  and  coming  out  to 
his  favorite  seat  beside  the  fire ;  but  he 
seemed  to  have  but  little  strength,  and 


Philip's  Mother  39 

to  have  grown  much  older  in  those  few 
days  of  illness. 

The  first  evening  that  he  took  his 
place  again  in  the  family  circle  was  a 
memorable  one  for  Philip.  The  boy  had 
always  been  a  great  favorite  with  his 
grandfather,  who  delighted  to  ask  him 
questions  about  what  he  had  seen  dur- 
ing the  day;  there  was  never  much  to 
tell,  but  Philip  had  a  whimsical  fashion 
of  making  a  great  deal  of  a  small 
adventure  in  relating  it,  and  often  some 
trifling  remark  would  suggest  past  events 
to  the  old  man,  and  he  would  tell  the 
boy  strange  stories  of  the  past,  which 
though  often  repeated  were  always  new 
and  of  absorbing  interest  to  his  grand- 
son and  to  Mag,  who  was  ever  an  in- 
terested listener. 

On  this  particular  evening,  however, 
she  seemed  listless  and  distraught,  and 
after  a  while  she  left  her  sewing  and 
knelt  in  front  of  the  fire  in  a  drooping 


40  Philip 

attitude,  which  made  Philip  ask  at  last 
half  timidly  (for  since  the  episode  with 
Dash  he  had  not  felt  quite  at  ease  with 
his  mother) : 

"  Are  ye  cold,  mother  dear  ?  Shall 
I  put  a  few  coals  on  the  fire  ?  "  She 
shook  her  head  without  replying,  and 
after  a  moment  Philip  asked  his  grand- 
father for  a  story;  but,  to  the  great  sur- 
prise of  both,  Mag  suddenly  spoke: 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  she  said,  "  both  of 
ye;  it  is  my  turn  to  tell  the  story  to- 
night, an'  ye  must  listen  patiently  while 
I  tell  it,  even  though  it  may  seem  over- 
long." 

She  put  her  hand  to  her  throat  as 
though  something  there  choked  her, 
and  in  the  flickering  firelight  her  eyes 
gleamed  strangely.  Philip  was  so  dumb- 
founded at  the  idea  of  his  silent  mother 
telling  him  a  story  that  he  looked  from 
her  to  his  grandfather  in  amazement. 
The  old  man  shook  his  head. 


Philip's  Mother  41 

"  My  poor  lass  I "  he  said  softly. 
"  Perhaps  it  will  ease  the  poor  troubled 
mind  of  ye  to  tell  it  to  the  lad." 

And  Mag  began  her  story  in  a  cold, 
hard  voice,  with  her  eyes  still  fixed 
upon  the  fire  and  her  position  un- 
changed. 


Chapter  IV 
Mag's  Story 

"  T    ONG  ago,  aye,  very  long  ago,  it 

J — ^  seems  now,  there  was  a  girl 
with  a  temper  so  bad  that  no  one  could 
stand  her  ways." 

"  Oh,  lass,"  interrupted  her  father, 
"  don't  ye  say  that  Let  me  begin  the 
story  for  thee." 

Then  the  old  man  took  it  up  in  the 
dialect  of  the  miners,  which  to  the 
readers  of  this  would  hardly  seem  like 
English,  and  for  their  benefit  must  be 
put  into  plainer  language. 

"  Yes,  there  was  a  girl,"  he  began, 
"  an'  the  handsomest  one  ever  I  saw. 
Maybe  she  had  somewhat  of  a  temper, 

but  no  one  could  look  into  her  face  and 
42 


Mag's  Story  43 

think  a  bit  blame  for  what  she  said. 
An'  what  a  voice  she  had!  There  was 
not  a  linnet  could  sing  like  her,  an' 
when  all  went  straight  she  was  singing 
all  the  time.  There  was  no  one  to 
look  after  this  girl,  poor  lammie,  for 
the  mother  of  her  died  before  she  had 
sense  to  miss  her,  an'  left  her  to  the 
care  of  a  foolish  old  father,  who  had 
small  enough  knowledge  of  the  proper 
way  to  bring  up  a  little  lass.  He  took 
her  down  into  the  mine  with  him  some- 
times, but  it  wasn't  to  her  taste  —  the 
darkness  fretted  her,  she  wanted  more 
liberty.  If  there  had  been  a  school  at 
the  place  it  would  have  been  the  mak- 
ing of  her,  for  she  had  a  quick  mind, 
an'  it  was  a  great  worry  to  the  father 
that  she  couldn't  be  put  to  something 
fitting  for  a  little  lass;  but  he  was  near 
daft  with  the  advising  of  one  an' 
another.  One's  wife  would  be  for  hav- 
ing her  sent  to  town  to  be  put  to  a 


44  Philip 

trade;  another's  wife  was  for  having 
her  sent  to  learn  service  with  some 
great  lord's  housekeeper;  an'  there 
wasn't  a  man's  wife  of  them  all  but 
had  some  plan  to  drive  him  crazy  with, 
an'  not  one  of  them  telling  of  a  way 
that  had  a  possibility  in  it,  or  that  the 
girl  took  a  liking  to,  for  she'd  fly  out  at 
all  the  ones  that  came  advising.  Not 
that  she  was  a  bad  lass,  if  you  took 
her  fair,  but  wilful-like,  an',  maybe,  too 
quick  with  her  tongue  when  she  took  a 
turn;  but  that  was  more  the  father's 
fault,  who  had  never  taught  her  the 
right  ways  for  a  little  lass." 

Philip  did  not  find  the  story  as  inter- 
esting yet  as  some  of  the  more  exciting 
ones  his  grandfather  told  sometimes,  of 
the  three  or  four  years  he  had  been  at 
sea  when  he  ran  away  from  home; 
but  he  listened  patiently  for  what  was 
to  come,  glancing  anxiously  at  his 
mother,  who  still  knelt  in  front  of  the 


Mag's  Story  45 

fire,  with  her  head  bent  low  on  her 
breast  and  her  hands  clasped  in  front 
of  her.  Philip  had  never  seen  her  cry 
before,  but  now,  to  his  surprise,  great 
tears  gathered  in  her  mournful  eyes, 
and  once  he  was  sure  he  heard  a  stifled 
sob ;  but  the  story  began  to  grow  more 
interesting  then,  and  in  listening  he 
forgot  to  watch  her. 

"  Ay,  she  was  a  rare  lassie ! "  pursued 
the  old  man;  "an'  when  she  was  but 
just  at  her  growth,  an'  not  half  come  to 
her  strength,  she  saved  the  lives  of  two 
of  the  best  men  in  the  mines." 

"  Oh,  grandfather,  how  did  she  do 
that?"  interrupted  Philip. 

"  I  can't  be  telling  ye  the  whole  of 
it,  because  one  story  inside  of  another 
spoils  the  both  to  the  taste ;  but  I'll  give 
ye  a  notion  of  how  it  was,"  resumed 
the  old  man. 

"  There  was  a  side  shaft  in  those 
days  to  a  vein  that  isn't  worked  now; 


46  Philip 

an'  being  the  nighest  to  some  of  their 
houses  the  men  used  to  go  up  and  down 
on  it,  though  the  superintendent  was 
sayin'  all  he  could  against  their  using  it, 
because  there  wasn't  a  very  safe  way 
of  running  it.  There  was  a  hand-wind- 
lass to  the  top  to  work  the  bucket,  an'  a 
snubbing-post  near  to  give  the  rope  a 
turn  'round  so  a  man  could  hold  it 
back. 

"  Well,  the  lass  used  to  come  every 
night  to  watch  the  men  getting  out  of 
that  shaft,  'cause  she  knew  the  foolish 
father  of  her  would  be  coming  up 
wearying  to  see  if  his  bairn  that  had  to 
be  left  alone  the  day  through  was  all 
safe.  So  one  night  she  stood  watch- 
ing the  first  load  of  night-men  going 
down  to  the  mine,  knowing  that  when 
the  bucket  came  up  the  father'd  be  in 
it;  an'  she  watched  the  men's  faces, 
going  down  into  the  dark,  turning  up  to 
look  at  her,  an'  one  of  'em  throwing  a 


Mag's  Story  47 

joke  at  her  for  being  like  a  boy  bairn 
more  than  a  lassie.  Poor  thing,  with 
only  a  great  rough  father,  an'  no  one 
to  show  her  the  ways  of  women  folks, 
what  shame  was  it  of  hers?  When 
they  went  down  from  the  sight  of  her, 
she  turns  to  the  man  at  the  rope,  an' 
what  does  she  see  ?  Just  the  rope  pay- 
ing itself  out  an'  no  one  to  hold  it  back, 
an'  him  grinding  his  chin  into  the  earth 
in  a  fit.  She  looks  quick  to  see  if  there 
is  help  coming,  but  never  a  man  was  in 
sight,  an'  the  rope  slipping  away.  Then 
she  knew  the  danger  they  were  in,  for 
the  old  shaft  went  far  deeper  than  the 
gallery  the  rope  left  them  at,  an'  when 
the  end  of  it  ran  out  the  bucket  would 
drop  down  where  the  water  had  broken 
in  long  ago  and  forced  them  to  give  up 
the  lower  drift. 

"  She  hadn't  much  time  to  spare  when 
the  loss  of  a  minute  would  mean  death 
to  the  men.  So  what  does  she  do  then, 


48  Philip 

do  you  think,  this  lassie  that  had  none 
of  the  soft  ways  of  a  girl  bairn  ?  Why, 
just  gives  the  rope  a  turn  around  her 
waist,  an'  then  braces  her  two  feet 
against  a  stone  an'  pulls  against  the 
roller,  an'  waits  for  the  jerk.  An'  there 
was  the  men  down  below  not  knowing 
but  what  Michael  held  the  rope  the 
same  as  ever,  getting  off  the  bucket  all 
safe,  an'  the  lassie's  own  father  an'  the 
other  men  climbing  in  an'  giving  the 
signal  to  be  fetched  up,  not  knowing 
that  the  heft  of  'em  was  dragging  on 
the  body  of  the  poor  lass,  who  was 
past  feeling  then,  for  she  had  fainted 
into  a  dead  swoon.  That's  the  way  the 
new  men  found  her  when  they  came  to 
the  shaft  to  take  their  turn  at  going 
down,  an'  her  dragged  up  against  the 
post  an'  held  there  by  the  weight  of 
the  bucket  hanging,  an'  Michael  lying 
by  groaning  an'  gripping  the  ground 
still." 


Mag's  Story  49 

"Oh,  grandfather!  did  it  kill  her?" 
gasped  Phil. 

"  Better  if  it  had  —  better  if  it  had!  " 
groaned  Mag,  raising  her  bent  head, 
but  not  turning  around. 

Grandfather  wiped  his  eyes  and 
cleared  his  throat  once  or  twice,  as  if 
he  found  the  recollection  of  that  time 
overwhelming;  then,  after  two  or  three 
long  whiffs  at  his  pipe  to  keep  it  from 
quite  going  out,  began  again  in  a  tremu- 
lous voice,  which  grew  steadier  as  he 
went  on. 

"  I  can't  say  as  'twould  'a'  been  better 
for  her  if  she  had,"  said  he,  apparently 
heeding  Mag's  words  more  than  Philip's 
question ;  "  happen  it  might  ha'  saved 
her  worse  trouble,  but  it  wasn't  to  be. 
She  was  mangled  though,  an'  parson 
came  over  when  he  heard  of  it,  bring- 
ing the  town  doctor  with  him,  an' 
they  found  a  deal  of  the  ribs  crushed 
and  one  shoulder  put  out  of  joint;  an' 


50  Philip 

the  wives  of  the  men  she  saved  an'  the 
mothers  of  them  nursed  and  cared  for 
her,  an'  there's  not  a  man  in  the  mine 
to  this  day,  nor  a  woman  belonging  to 
him,  that  wouldn't  stand  up  for  her 
against  the  world,  an'  well  they  might. 
But  the  best  is  to  come :  the  papers  got 
the  story  of  it,  an'  the  greatest  gentry  in 
the  land  got  to  know  of  what  the  little 
lass  did  for  the  men;  an'  the  Queen, 
God  save  her,  sent  her  a  gold  medal. 
6  For  the  Saving  of  Human  Life '  was 
writ  on  to  it,  an'  some  great  society 
sent  her  another  in  a  velvet  case. 

"  An'  now,  Maggie,  woman,"  said  he 
coaxingly  to  his  daughter,  "  up  and  tell 
the  lad  who  was  the  little  lassie,  an'  let 
him  hear  no  more  about  her." 

"  Nay,"  said  the  woman,  rising  and 
turning  around  with  her  eyes  dry  and 
glistening  now,  "it's  all  to  be  told;  if 
ye  cannot  tell  it,  I  must." 

"  Save  us  all,  woman  dear,"  said  the 


Mag's  Story  51 

old  man,  rising  and  patting  his  daughter 
soothingly  on  the  arm;  "  don't  get  into 
such  a  wax.  If  the  little  lad  must  hear 
the  whole  story  through,  why  then  he 
must,  an'  who  can  tell  it  him  better  nor 
me  ?  But  there's  no  need  for  his  hear- 
ing more." 

"  Yes,  father,  you  can  tell  it  if  you 
will,  but  ye  must  tell  it  all,  an'  keep 
nothing  back,  or  I  shall  have  to  tell  it 
myself;  for  I  am  determined  that  my 
child  shall  know  just  what  a  wicked 
temper  can  bring  one  to,  if  it's  let  to  go 
on  and  get  the  mastery." 

As  Mag  said  this  she  turned  wearily 
to  the  little  stand  where  her  basket  of 
clothes  for  mending  stood,  and  seated 
herself  by  it,  but  not  to  sew.  Pushing 
the  candle  and  work  away  from  her, 
she  put  her  folded  arms  upon  the  table 
and  dropped  her  head  upon  them,  turn- 
ing her  face  away  from  the  others. 

Philip  had  become  much  interested  in 


52  Philip 

the  story  of  the  heroic  girl  who  had 
risked  so  much  to  save  the  miners,  and 
he  was  anxious  to  hear  more  about  her; 
but  the  old  man  seemed  in  no  hurry  to 
go  on  with  the  story.  He  knocked  the 
ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  refilled  it,  took  an 
unnecessarily  long  time  in  lighting  it, 
and  made  various  delays,  till  at  last  an 
uneasy  movement  of  his  daughter  made 
him  start  off  on  it  at  last. 

"  Well,  this  lass  as  I'm  telling  of," 
he  began,  turning  to  Phil,  "  this  brave 
one  that  the  whole  of  the  men  was 
willing  to  lay  down  their  lives  for,  got 
all  over  her  hurts  and  bruises,  and  was 
'round  on  her  feet  again  as  well  as  ever. 
They  was  feared,  they  was,  both  doctor 
an'  parson,  that  the  spine  of  her  back 
had  gotten  a  bending  that  would  never 
get  out  of  it;  but  no  fear  for  her  — 
when  she  left  her  bed  (an'  it  was  all  the 
broken  bones  could  do  to  keep  her  in 
it  at  all)  she  was  as  straight  as  a  May- 


Mag's  Story  53 

pole,  an'  there  couldn't  have  been  a  face 
more  bonny  than  hers,  an'  it  grew  bon- 
nier every  day  till  it  was  more  trouble 
than  ever  to  me  —  to  the  father,  I 
mean  —  to  know  a  way  to  look  after 
one  that  was  like  a  young  queen  for 
beauty. 

"  She  had  no  liking  those  times  for 
going  down  into  the  mines,  or,  for  that 
matter,  for  work  of  any  kind.  There 
was  many  an  honest  lad  among  the 
workmen  that  fair  doated  on  the  sight 
of  her,  but  she  had  no  care  for  one  of 
them;  an'  her  father  was  content  to 
have  it  so,  for  he  was  proud  of  his 
handsome  daughter,  an'  secretly  he 
was  believing  in  his  heart  that  there 
was  none  quite  good  enough  to  be  a 
husband  for  her. 

"  Well,  just  about  the  time  I'm  telling 
ye  of  there  began  to  be  strange  stories 
floating  around  among  the  women-folks, 
about  a  grand  young  man  who  wore 


54  philiP 

fine  clothes  an'  seemed  to  have  nothing 
better  to  do  than  to  hang  around  the 
cottage  and  keep  the  girl  I'm  telling 
ye  of  from  doing  her  house-work. 

"  It  would  have  been  all  right  enough 
most  probably,  an'  spared  a  world  of 
trouble  to  all  concerned,  if  she  had 
only  been  quite  honest  and  spoken  out 
to  her  father,  telling  him  about  her 
friend  an'  that  he  meant  all  fair  an' 
square  by  her.  But  girls  is  odd  an' 
shy  in  their  ways  sometimes,  an'  maybe 
this  girl  was  afraid  her  old  father  would 
be  angry,  an'  rough  perhaps  with  the 
young  man,  so  she  said  never  a  word; 
an'  then  one  day  when  the  old  man 
came  home  from  his  work  rather  earlier 
than  usual  an'  not  feeling  extra  good- 
humored  as  it  happened,  there  was  the 
young  man  just  as  the  neighbors  had 
said,  a-sitting  quite  at  home  in  the 
cottage,  painting  away  on  a  bit  of  cloth 
stretched  on  a  frame,  an'  it  took  only 


Mag's  Story  55 

half  an  eye  to  see  that  it  was  a  picture 
of  the  girl  he  was  making.  Well,  then 
there  was  a  great  row,  the  old  man 
accusing  his  daughter  of  deceiving  him, 
an'  calling  the  young  man  some  rather 
unhandsome  names;  but  I  must  say  he 
kept  his  temper  very  well  until  the 
girl  began  to  cry  an'  her  father  said 
something  foolish  about  young  gentle- 
men making  love  to  simple  village 
girls  an'  breaking  their  hearts  for  their 
own  amusement.  At  that  the  young 
painter  turned  very  white,  an'  quick  as 
a  flash  he  walked  straight  over  to  the 
girl  an'  putting  his  arm  around  her 
waist  he  said,  *  Don't  cry,  dear,  an' 
listen  to  me,  for  in  your  father's  pres- 
ence I  ask  you  to  become  my  wife  as 
soon  as  the  minister  can  say  the  words.' 
"  An'  so  they  were  married,  these 
two,  an'  now,  my  girl,  you  must  tell  the 
rest.  I  know  it  is  hard  for  you  to  do  it, 
but  I  cannot  bring  my  tongue  to  it." 


Chapter  V 
Philip's  Father 

BUT  she  did  not  go  on  for  full 
five  minutes,  and  there  was  no 
sound  in  the  room  but  the  crackling  of 
the  fire  and  the  ticking  of  the  clock  on 
the  mantel-shelf.  Dash  was  the  first  to 
break  the  silence,  which  even  he  seemed 
to  find  oppressive;  he  got  up  from  his 
place  under  the  table,  and  coming  over 
to  Mag,  gravely  put  his  two  paws  in 
her  lap  and  looked  up  into  her  face  in 
a  coaxing  way  he  had  when  he  wanted 
something ;  it  was  an  appeal  which 
Mag  never  resisted,  and  she  patted  him 
gently  on  the  head,  saying,  "  Good 
doggie  !  Lie  down  here,  by  the  fire 
where  it  is  warm,  an'  I  will  try  and 
56 


Philip's  Father  57 

tell  Philip  more  about  the  gentleman  we 
were  speaking  of  just  now. 

"  His  name  was  Philip  ;  it's  right  ye 
should  know  that  much." 

"  The  same  as  mine,"  said  the  boy  ; 
"  that's  strange.  What  was  the  name 
of  the  lass  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  a  name  for  her,"  said 
grandfather  hastily. 

Mag  went  on  as  if  she  had  not  heard 
the  question: 

"  He  worked  for  his  wife,  Philip  did, 
with  the  paints,  an'  made  pictures  to 
send  up  to  London  to  be  sold,  an'  the 
next  year  when  the  baby  came,  an' 
there  was  more  money  needing,  he 
worked  harder  than  ever,  till  he  was 
worn  like  a  shadow.  He  was  very  sad 
and  quiet  them  times,  with  the  weight 
that  was  on  him  of  caring  for  a  family, 
and  him  not  reared  with  even  the 
thoughts  of  earning  his  own  living. 
She,  the  wife,  never  noticed  how  the  toil 


58  Philip 

was  wearing  on  him  ;  she  wasn't  much 
more  than  a  child,  an'  when  he  grew  so 
still  and  weary-like,  she  fretted  for  the 
pleasant  words  and  free-hearted  laugh 
that  used  to  be  like  music  to  her. 
Then  she'd  scold  him,  with  the  evil 
tongue  she  had,  when  things  went 
against  her  liking,  an'  he  bore  every 
word  like  a  saint.  Once  when  the 
money  was  lacking  entirely,  an'  she 
hadn't  the  patience  to  wait  for  the  pay- 
ment he  was  looking  for  from  London, 
she  turned  on  him  worse  than  ever; 
an'  when  he  couldn't  be  driven  to  make 
her  an  answer,  she  grew  more  bitter 
and  ugly,  till  at  last  she  told  him  if  he 
was  like  other  men  he'd  go  down  to 
work  in  the  mine.  She  was  frightened 
after  she  said  it,  for  it  was  like  an,  in- 
sult to  liken  a  born  gentleman  to  them 
rough  miners ;  but  he  made  no  answer 
even  to  that,  only  just  got  up  from  his 
chair  an'  walked  out  of  the  house,  she 


Philip's  Father  59 

following  him  to  the  very  door  an' 
flinging  rough  words  after  him  to  the 
last." 

"  Leave  it  now,  Mag,"  implored  the 
old  man,  who,  to  Philip's  amazement, 
had  been  shaking  his  head  and  groan- 
ing during  his  daughter's  rapidly  spoken 
narrative. 

But  Mag  went  on  again  as  if  she  had 
not  noticed  the  interruption.  This  time, 
however,  she  spoke  with  an  effort,  as  if 
the  words  were  dragged  from  her  by  a 
force  she  could  not  resist. 

"  The  foolish  woman  repented  her  of 
all  her  wicked  words  as  soon  as  she  lost 
sight  of  him  at  the  turn  of  the  road, 
but  the  pride  an'  temper  that  was  in 
her  kept  her  back  from  going  after  him. 
The  thought  wouldn't  leave  her  the  day 
through,  that  the  jibes  of  her  had  sent 
him  off  to  his  hurt  in  some  way,  an' she 
wasn't  greatly  astonished,  but  her  heart 
was  grieved  awful,  when  one  of  the 


60  Philip 

neighbors  told  her  that  she'd  seen  her 
husband  going  down  the  shaft. 

"  When  it  comes  near  night  she  took 
up  the  baby  an'  walked  over  to  the 
mine,  ready  to  throw  herself  on  her 
knees  to  Philip  before  them  all  when 
he  come  up  out  of  it,  an'  beg  him  to 
forgive  the  temper  of  her  that  drove  him 
to  take  her  at  her  words  an'  go  down  to 
seek  for  work  that  was  ill-fitting  a  gen- 
tleman. There  was  a  crowd  coming 
over  from  the  shaft,  early  as  it  was, 
an'  as  she  come  nearer  she  saw  some  of 
the  men  carrying  one  between  them  that 
looked,  by  the  way  the  hands  hung,  as 
if  he  had  no  life  in  him.  There  was 
no  need  to  tell  her  who  it  was,  there 
was  no  call  to  tell  her  how  it  happened, 
for  she  knew  that  it  was  Philip  before 
they  brought  him  a  step  nearer.  It 
was  no  use  for  the  women  to  come 
around  to  comfort  her,  to  tell  her  'twas 
an  accident  that  took  the  life  that  was 


Philip's  Father  61 

a  hundred  times  better  worth  saving 
than  her  own.  Her  heart  told  her 
'twas  herself  killed  him  by  the  rage 
that  drove  him  to  take  her  at  her  word, 
an'  it  turned  to  lead  in  her  bosom,  an' 
ever  since  she  has  waited  for  the 
punishment  that  is  coming,  for  she 
knows  that  her  life  will  be  taken  as  his 
was.  The  same  way  that  others  long 
for  life,  she  longs  for  death;  an'  she 
dare  not  take  her  life  with  her  own 
hands,  or  many  a  time  she  would  have 
done  it,  for  waiting  an'  waiting  is  a  part 
of  her  punishment,  an'  she  will  shirk 
none  of  it.  But,  oh  !  it's  a  weary, 
weary  life,  an'  it  takes  patience  to  bear 
it."  She  rose  at  the  last  words,  which 
were  uttered  in  a  sort  of  moan,  and, 
opening  the  cottage  door,  walked  out 
into  the  cloudy  darkness,  which  was 
not  even  lighted  by  stars.  Philip, 
excited  by  her  strange  manner  and  the 
story  he  had  heard,  sprang  up  as  if  to 


62  Philip 

follow  her,  but  his  grandfather  stopped 
him. 

"Let  'er  be,  lad,"  he  said;  "she 
goes  out  often  that  way  nights  after 
you  are  sleeping,  an'  she  comes  back  the 
better  for  it,  so  I  never  try  to  hinder 
her.  That  was  a  hard  story  for  her  to 
tell,  an'  I'd  spared  her  if  she'd  let  me." 

"But  why  did  she  tell  it,  an'  why  did 
she  say  I  must  hear  it  sometime?" 
asked  Philip,  almost  in  a  whisper. 

"  It  was  folly  in  her,  sheer  folly,"  was 
the  answer.  "  But  she  had  the  notion 
to  tell  thee;  an'  now  it  is  said,  thee  needs 
to  think  no  thought  about  it  again." 

"  But  did  I  ever  see  the  lass  ?  "  per- 
sisted the  boy  curiously. 

"  If  thee  did,  thee  wouldn't  know  it," 
was  the  unsatisfactory  answer. 

"  I  think  she  was  a  rare  one  to  save 
the  men  that  time,"  said  Philip. 

"  Ay,  was  she,  true  enough,"  said  the 
old  man  proudly. 


Philip's  Father  63 

u  What  became  of  the  baby  ?  "  asked 
Philip. 

"  From  the  day,"  said  his  grand- 
father, "  that  they  took  the  dead  body  of 
her  husband  out  of  the  door  to  bury  him, 
the  poor  young  widow  went  down  to  the 
mine  to  work  along  with  the  men,  an' 
till  the  boy  was  old  enough  to  run  she 
took  him  on  her  back  with  her,  tied  in 
a  big  shawl.  She  has  a  strange  notion 
that  she  is  to  meet  a  violent  death  down 
there,  the  same  as  her  man  did.  Some 
folks  say  she's  crazed  with  the  trouble; 
but  however  it  is,  no  one  can  put  her 
off  from  believing  that,  sooner  or  later, 
her  life  must  go  to  pay  for  his." 

Philip  was  deeply  moved  by  what  he 
had  heard,  and  very  gradually  he  began 
to  understand  that  the  story  was  a  true 
one,  and  that  it  concerned  him  and  his 
parents  very  closely;  his  mother  had 
come  in  and  resumed  her  drooping  atti- 
tude before  the  fire,  and  presently  he 


64  Philip 

went  timidly  over  to  her  and  laid  his 
cheek  close  to  hers.  "  Mother,"  he  said 
softly, "  I  think  I  can  guess  who  the  brave 
girl  was  who  saved  the  men's  lives,  and, 
mother  dear,  if  my  father  loved  her  so 
very  much,  would  he  lay  it  up  against 
her  that  she  spoke  a  bit  too  quickly  just 
that  once  ?  " 

With  a  quick  cry  Mag  gathered  her 
little  boy  into  her  arms,  breaking  into 
sobs  and  tears  which  were  the  relief  her 
sad  heart  needed. 

"  Oh,  father ! "  she  murmured,  "  to 
think  he  knows  it  all,  an'  yet  he  does 
not  hate  his  poor,  wicked  mother." 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Philip,  weeping  too. 
"  I  love  ye  more  than  ever,  my  own 
dear  mother,  an'  I  mean  to  try  and  fill 
my  father's  place,  an'  take  such  good 
care  of  ye,  mother  dear." 

"  Bravely  spoken,  little  lad,"  said 
grandfather,  his  brown  wrinkled  face 
beaming  satisfaction  on  the  group  by  the 


Philip's  Father  65 

fire.  "  I  always  told  ye,  Mag,  that 
'twould  be  far  better  the  boy  should  be 
told,  an'  besides  he  had  a  right  to  know 
about  his  father,  who  was  a  real  gentle- 
man, an'  one  for  his  son  to  be  proud  of, 
though  I  may  be  a  little  late  in  saying 
so,  God  forgive  me !  You  see  I  was  so 
over-fond  of  your  mother,  boy,  that  if 
an  angel  from  heaven  had  wanted  to 
marry  her  I  would  have  thought  him 
scarce  good  enough ;  an'  then,  too,  I  had 
a  foolish  pride  about  our  being  such 
ignorant  folks,  an'  he  so  learned  and 
able  to  paint  all  them  wonderful  pict- 
ures, that  I  was  feared  he'd  feel  scorn 
of  us." 

The  old  man  sighed  penitently,  and 
Mag  laid  her  hand  lovingly  on  his  knee. 

"  I'll  not  deny  ye  was  a  little  hard 
on  my  husband,"  she  said  tremulously, 
"but  it  was  all  meant  kindly  enough, 
an'  as  my  little  Philip  said  just  now, 
perhaps  now  he  understands  it  all." 


66  Philip 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  said  Philip  softly, 
patting  her  cheek. 

After  that  Mag  talked  more  freely  to 
the  boy  of  his  father,  and  indeed  it 
seemed  to  afford  her  both  relief  and 
pleasure  to  speak  at  last  upon  a  subject 
which  had  so  long  lain  heavily  on  her 
heart.  She  told  Philip  of  her  first  meet- 
ing with  the  handsome  young  artist,  who 
was  staying  then  in  the  neighborhood  at 
a  large  house  now  vacant,  which  Philip 
remembered  to  have  seen  on  a  memo- 
rable visit  to  a  neighboring  town,  and 
which  belonged  to  the  family  of  his 
father's  dearest  friend  and  college  chum, 
Frederick  Ashden.  The  two  friends 
had  come  to  Ashden  for  the  summer 
vacation,  and  Philip  Norton,  who  had 
really  a  marked  talent  for  painting, 
was  quite  enraptured  with  the  oppor- 
tunities for  sketching  which  he  found  in 
the  picturesque  mining  village. 

It  was  in  the  course  of  one  of  his  long 


Philip's  Father  67 

rambles  about  the  country  in  search  of 
subjects  that  the  young  artist  had  met 
the  handsome  village  girl,  whose  dark 
beauty  he  at  once  proceeded  to  transfer 
to  canvas.  Mag  was  easily  persuaded 
to  pose  for  a  series  of  sketches  which 
prolonged  their  intercourse  through 
many  a  long  summer  afternoon,  when 
her  father  was  away  working  in  the 
mine  and  the  motherless  girl  was  free 
to  do  as  she  pleased.  They  were  as 
happy  as  birds,  and  with  scarcely  more 
thought  for  the  future;  and  then  it  was 
that  the  neighbors  began  to  shake  their 
heads,  and  to  gossip  about  the  handsome 
gentleman  who  was  far  too  fine  for  the 
daughter  of  a  poor  miner.  After  a  while 
their  hints  and  whisperings  reached  the 
ears  of  the  girl's  father  —  and  the  rest 
we  know. 

But  there  was  much  that  Philip  did 
not  learn  until  long  afterward,  and  which 
even  Mag  did  not  understand,  for  she 


68  Philip 

never  more  than  dimly  guessed  that  in 
marrying  her,  Philip  Norton  had  liter- 
ally given  up  everything  which  had 
hitherto  made  his  life  worth  living. 
His  parents  had  died  when  he  was  very 
young,  and  he  had  been  adopted  by  his 
uncle  and  aunt,  a  childless  couple  who 
had  set  their  entire  affections  and  hopes 
upon  their  promising  young  nephew. 
His  hasty  and  unsuitable  marriage  had 
wellnigh  broken  their  hearts,  and  im- 
mediately upon  hearing  of  it  they  wrote 
to  him  imploring  him,  as  he  was  not 
yet  of  age,  to  have  the  marriage  an- 
nulled, offering  to  settle  a  comfortable 
allowance  upon  his  wife  if  she  would 
consent  to  live  apart  from  him.  It  is 
needless  to  say  that  Philip  Norton  re- 
jected their  offers  with  scorn,  and  as 
they  would  not  receive  his  wife,  he 
requested  that  in  future  all  communica- 
tions between  them  should  cease.  His 
monthly  remittances,  which  were  for- 


Philip's  Father  69 

warded  to  him  as  usual,  he  returned 
unopened, too  proud  to  accept  the  aid 
which  he  so  sorely  needed;  for  his 
pictures  sold  but  slowly  and  brought 
pitifully  small  prices.  Indeed,  his 
work  at  this  time  was  sadly  lacking  in 
inspiration,  for  he  no  longer  worked 
with  the  love  of  his  art,  which  had  once 
been  the  motive  power  of  his  labor,  but 
with  the  painful  effort  born  of  a  wear- 
ing anxiety  to  earn  the  money  which 
should  free  him  from  the  galling  de- 
pendence upon  his  hard-working  father- 
in-law  which  became  day  by  day  more 
unbearable. 

He  felt  keenly,  too,  the  separation 
from  his  friends,  and  especially  did  he 
miss  the  companionship  of  Frederick 
Ashden;  yet  he  had  himself  insisted 
upon  a  cessation  of  their  intercourse. 

"  I  know  what  you  will  say  of  my 
marriage,"  he  wrote  to  his  friend,  "  and 
as  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  it  from  you,  I 


70  Philip 

think  it  best  that  in  future  we  should 
not  meet.  Our  paths  in  life  will  hence- 
forth diverge  very  widely.  I  have 
chosen  mine  and  am  happy  in  the 
choice;  may  yours  be  equally  happy. 
God  bless  you,  and  farewell!  —  Philip." 
Mag  realized  in  a  dim  way  that  her 
husband  had  given  up  much  in  aban- 
doning his  career  and  settling  down  to 
the  narrow  life  with  her  and  her  father 
in  their  humble  home ;  but,  passionately 
as  she  loved  him,  she  was  able  to  enter 
into  but  few  of  his  thoughts,  and  he 
soon  began  sadly  to  realize  this,  and 
many  other  things  which  he  would 
scarcely  confess  to  himself.  He  was 
harassed,  too,  by  fears  for  the  future; 
Mag  shared  his  anxiety,  and  then  one 
day  she  spoke  the  fatal  words  of 
reproach  which  had  driven  her  young 
husband  to  his  death,  and  for  which 
her  life  since  that  day  had  been  one 
long,  vain  regret. 


Philip's  Father  71 

There  was  one  thing  which  Philip 
learned  from  his  mother  which  troubled 
him  greatly.  His  father's  uncle  and 
adopted  father,  a  clergyman,  had,  within 
two  years,  received  the  appointment 
to  a  neighboring  parish,  and  shortly 
after  his  arrival  he  had  written  very 
kindly  to  Mag,  as  indeed  he  had  done 
before,  begging  that  she  would  let 
bygones  be  bygones,  and  allow  him  to 
assist  her  in  any  way  in  his  power, 
especially  in  the  education  of  her  son. 
Mag  had  treated  this  as  she  had  done 
the  former  offers,  with  silent  disdain; 
but  when  she  told  Philip  he  flushed 
painfully. 

"  I  am  sure  my  father's  people  meant 
it  kindly,"  he  said  timidly,  "  and  oh ! 
mother  dear,  if  only  they  could  know 
ye  I  am  sure  that  they  would  love 
ye  like  everyone  else." 

But  Mag  stopped  him  almost  angrily. 

"Hush,  Philip!"  she  said;  "not  for 


72  Philip 

the  whole  world  would  I  have  those 
proud  people  know  what  a  poor, 
humble,  ignorant  woman  my  Philip 
had  chosen  for  his  wife.  No,  I  will 
not  accept  help  from  such  as  them;  so 
never  speak  of  it  again." 

And  Philip,  remorseful  and  abashed, 
never  did. 


Chapter  VI 
A  New  Friend 

"P)HILIP'S  grandfather  never  regained 
-L  his  strength  after  the  attack  of  fever, 
and  he  grew  gradually  more  and  more 
feeble  until  at  last  he  was  not  able  to 
leave  his  bed;  and  one  morning  when 
Mag  went  softly  into  his  room  to  see  if 
the  old  man  needed  her,  she  found  that 
he  had  passed  quietly  away  during  the 
night. 

It  was  a  deep  grief  to  his  daughter, 
but  she  had  scarcely  time  to  mourn  for 
her  father,  when  Philip  was  stricken 
down  with  the  same  fever,  and  for 
many  days  he  hovered  between  life 
and  death.  The  fever  fed  remorse- 
lessly on  his  plump  body,  which  had 
73 


74  Philip 

scarcely  lost  the  rounded  curves  of 
babyhood,  and  Mag  felt  something 
tighten  round  her  heart  as  she  looked 
at  the  wasted  face  upon  the  pillow. 

The  doctor,  busy  as  he  was,  came 
every  day,  for  he  knew  something  of 
Mag's  sad  history,  and  had  a  warm 
place  in  his  heart  for  her  and  her  little 
boy;  and  when  the  fever  broke  at  last, 
and  he  could  say,  "  The  worst  is  over 
now,  and  the  little  lad  will  pull  through 
after  all,  please  God,"  his  eyes  were 
moist  with  pleasure  and  relief,  and  as 
he  gathered  up  the  reins  to  hurry  on  to 
his  next  case,  he  muttered: 

"  I  wish  the  Rev.  Henry  Seldon  and 
his  wife  could  see  that  fine  child  and 
his  mother;  I  believe  they  would  have 
a  mild  surprise." 

Philip  came  out  from  his  sick-room 
a  pale  and  languid  image  of  his  former 
self;  he  had  grown  considerably  taller, 
as  often  happens  in  such  cases,  and  his 


A  New  Friend  75 

face  had  gained  a  certain  delicate  refine- 
ment of  expression  which  caused  even 
the  rough  miners  to  turn  and  look  after 
him  admiringly,  as  in  the  early  spring 
days  he  began  to  walk  about  a  little 
with  Dash  in  the  warm  sunshine. 

The  good  doctor  had  peremptorily 
forbidden  that  he  should  return  to  work 
in  the  mines,  and  this  was  a  great  dis- 
appointment to  Philip,  who  was  anxious 
to  help  his  mother  with  his  earnings. 
Nevertheless  he  could  not  deny  that  it 
was  extremely  pleasant  to  wander  about 
the  country  with  Dash,  in  the  sweet 
spring  weather,  spending  long,  blissful 
days  in  the  woods  and  fields,  sometimes 
returning  home  only  just  in  time  to 
have  the  fire  kindled  and  the  kettle 
boiling  against  Mag's  return  from  her 
work  in  the  mines. 

One  beautiful  day  in  May,  when  Mag 
was  not  to  be  expected  home  until  later 
than  usual,  Philip  and  Dash  started  off, 


76  Philip 

as  they  often  did,  for  a  long,  happy  day 
in  the  country.  Philip  had  their  dinner 
in  a  small  basket  which  was  slung  over 
his  shoulder,  while  in  one  pocket  he 
was  careful  to  put  one  of  his  beloved 
books,  and  in  the  other  a  flute  which 
had  been  given  him  by  his  kind  friend 
the  overseer,  and  upon  which  he  had 
taught  himself  to  play  very  sweetly. 

It  was  the  boy's  greatest  delight  to 
find  a  secluded  spot  somewhere  in  the 
woods,  where  he  could  practise  on 
his  flute  without  fear  of  interruption; 
and  after  a  rather  longer  search  than 
usual,  Dash  and  he  found  such  a  nook 
on  this  particular  morning.  In  the  course 
of  their  tramp  they  had  come  quite  unex- 
pectedly upon  a  small  but  beautiful 
lake,  and  Philip  gave  a  little  cry  of 
delight  as  he  pushed  aside  the  bushes 
and  discovered  the  sheet  of  water  spark- 
ling and  dimpling  in  the  sunlight.  Dash 
expressed  his  pleasure  by  diving  into 


A  New  Friend  77 

the  water  for  a  swim,  and  Philip  amused 
himself  for  some  time  by  throwing  sticks 
into  the  lake  for  the  dog  to  bring 
ashore  in  his  mouth.  After  a  while, 
however,  they  both  became  conscious 
of  being  pleasantly  tired  and  hungry, 
and  then  Philip  opened  the  basket 
which  Mag  had  packed  so  carefully  in 
the  morning,  and  dined  royally  on  its 
contents,  with  refreshing  draughts  of 
clear,  cool  water  from  the  lake.  After 
sharing  the  meal  Dash  curled  himself 
up  on  the  grass  for  a  comfortable  nap, 
while  Philip  took  out  his  flute,  and, 
stretched  on  his  back  on  a  soft  bed  of 
moss  under  the  pleasant  shade  of  a 
great  tree,  he  began  to  play. 

At  first  the  music  was  very  soft  and 
sweet,  with  here  and  there  a  detached 
note  of  silvery  clearness;  it  seemed  as 
if  the  lovely,  wordless  improvisation 
told  in  music  of  the  mimic  life  of  fairy- 
land. Shrill  sweet  cries  of  tiny  sprites 


78  Philip 

summoning  each  other  to  dance  within 
the  circle  of  a  fairy  ring  appeared  to  be 
answered  by  an  airy,  invisible  crowd, 
and  one  could  easily  imagine  he  heard 
the  sound  of  tripping  feet  and  rippling 
laughter.  Presently  the  gossamer  host, 
it  might  be  fancied,  fluttered  about  and 
danced  with  a  kind  of  soft  gayety,  like 
the  whirling  of  dry  leaves  on  the  mossy 
ground  when  light  breezes  stir  them. 
All  this,  and  the  sound  of  flying  feet, 
gently  clapping  hands,  and  the  light 
swish  of  elfin  robes  were  expressed, 
perhaps  unconsciously  to  himself,  in 
the  varying  strains  that  breathed  from 
Philip's  flute. 

Then  the  boy  paused  for  a  moment 
to  take  breath,  and  in  an  instant  the 
fairy  crew  vanished  as  suddenly  as  they 
had  come,  and  there  was  no  sound  but 
the  murmur  of  the  wind  among  the 
trees  and  the  soft  lapping  of  water. 
Then  Philip  put  his  flute  again  to  his 


A  New  Friend  79 

lips,  and  now  —  hark  I  A  bird,  high  up 
in  the  branches  over  his  head,  called 
sweetly  to  its  mate;  at  first  very  softly 
and  as  though  sleepily,  and  then,  as  the 
clear  notes  of  the  flute  cut  more  sharply 
into  the  still  afternoon  air,  his  glad  tor- 
rent of  sound  filled  the  green  forest 
with  joyous  melody.  If  any  others 
than  Dash  (who  was  fast  asleep)  had 
been  there  to  listen,  they  would  doubt- 
less have  looked  curiously  among  the 
branches  overhead,  expecting  every 
moment  to  see  the  flashing  of  a  feath- 
ered breast  or  wing.  Once  again  Philip 
paused  to  unpurse  his  lips,  and  this  time 
a  slight  sound  of  rippling  water  be- 
hind him  caused  him  to  turn  his  head; 
and  great  was  his  surprise  to  see  a 
small,  gayly  painted  boat  drawn  up 
close  to  the  bank  on  which  he  lay, 
and  it  was  the  sound  of  oars,  dipped 
gently  now  and  then  into  the  water 
to  keep  the  boat  from  drifting  away, 


8o  Philip 

which  had  attracted  the  boy's  atten- 
tion. Dash  awoke  almost  at  the  same 
moment,  with  a  sleepy  bark  of  in- 
quiry, and  Philip  sprang  at  once  to 
his  feet,  flushed  and  embarrassed. 

There  was  a  gentleman  in  the  boat, 
and  Philip  remarked  at  a  glance  that 
he  was  very  tall  and  distinguished- 
looking,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was 
dressed  in  a  careless,  neglige*  fashion, 
and  that  he  was  browned  as  though 
from  much  exposure  to  the  air  and 
sun.  He  gave  one  the  impression, 
somehow,  of  being  in  not  quite  perfect 
health,  in  spite  of  his  coat  of  tan;  and 
his  handsome  mouth  had  a  downward 
droop  under  its  brown  mustache  which 
gave  his  face  an  expression  of  weari- 
ness. His  eyes,  however,  were  full  of 
amusement  as  he  looked  at  Philip,  and 
he  smiled  reassuringly,  reaching  up  as 
he  sat  in  the  boat  to  seize  a  low-growing 
limb  by  which  to  steady  himself. 


A  New  Friend  81 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  interrupted  the 
concert,"  he  said  pleasantly,  in  a  deep, 
musical  voice.  "  Perhaps  you  will 
think  it  was  not  quite  fair  to  have  crept 
up  upon  you  unawares,  but  the  music 
of  your  flute  drew  me  from  away 
across  the  lake,  and  I  confess  that  I  ap- 
proached as  quietly  as  possible,  fearing 
that  the  delicious  sounds  might  cease. 
You  play  with  rare  skill,  my  boy." 

Philip  flushed  with  pleasure  to  be 
thus  praised  by  the  handsome  stranger. 

"  Do  ye  really  mean  it,  sir  ? "  he 
asked  eagerly. 

"I  do,  indeed,"  said  the  gentleman; 
"  and  may  I  ask  who  has  been  your 
teacher?" 

Philip  shook  his  head.  "  No  one, 
sir,"  he  said.  "  I  have  just  picked  it 
up  myself  at  odd  moments." 

The  gentleman  whistled  softly  and 
looked  at  the  boy  keenly. 

"  A  veritable  infant  prodigy,"  he  said 


82  Philip 

half  to  himself;  and  then  aloud,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye: 

"  That  little  dog  of  yours  looks  at 
me  a  trifle  suspiciously.  What  can  I 
do  to  establish  his  confidence  in  the 
honesty  of  my  intentions  ?  Here,  jump 
into  my  boat,  both  of  you,  and  we  will 
go  off  for  a  little  row  ;  it  will  do  us  all 
good,  perhaps." 

Dash  did  indeed  hesitate  for  a 
moment  before  trusting  himself  in  the 
stranger's  boat,  but  when  Philip  jumped 
in  eagerly  and  whistled  for  him  to  fol- 
low, he  seemed  to  think  it  must  be  all 
right  and  sprang  in  after  him.  The 
stranger  pulled  out  into  the  lake  with 
long,  strong  strokes,  which  Philip 
watched  with  a  boy's  admiration  for 
manly  strength  and  comeliness  ;  he  was 
too  happy  to  say  very  much,  but  he 
lost  no  detail  of  the  beauty  of  the  scene, 
and  the  oarsman  watched  the  swift 
changes  of  the  boy's  delicate,  expressive 


A  New  Friend  83 

face  with  keen  intentness  and  real 
pleasure. 

"  Where  did  you  get  your  eyes,  my 
boy?"  he  asked  suddenly;  and  Philip 
started  and  blushed. 

"I  —  don't  know,  sir,"  he  said  shyly. 

"  No,  of  course  you  do  not,"  said  the 
other,  laughing.  "  I  only  asked  for  the 
sake  of  asking,  and  because  I  once  saw 
just  such  a  pair  in  the  head  of  a  dear 
friend,  long  since  dead,  poor  fellow ! " 

He  sighed  and  frowned  a  little,  and 
in  an  instant  Philip's  shyness  vanished 
in  a  warm  rush  of  sympathy. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry!"  he  said;  "  was 
it  somebody  ye  loved  very  much, 
sir?" 

The   gentleman  looked   up   quickly. 

"  It  was,  indeed,  my  little  man." 

And  then,  as  though  to  quit  a  painful 
subject,  he  said  abruptly: 

"  But  tell  me  about  your  music.  I 
play  a  little  myself  sometimes,  and  it 


84  Philip 

is  just  possible  that  I  might  be  able  to 
help  you  in  some  way." 

Philip  clasped  his  hands  ecstatically, 
and  then,  encouraged  by  his  listener's 
kindly  interest,  he  chattered  on  quite 
freely,  of  himself,  of  his  mother  and 
their  life  together  in  the  little  cottage 
at  the  mines,  of  their  underground  work, 
and  of  his  own  anxiety  to  learn  to  read 
and  to  play;  and  then,  quite  suddenly, 
he  broke  off,  reminded  by  the  lengthen- 
ing shadows  of  the  trees  that  the  after- 
noon had  nearly  worn  away,  that  Dash 
and  he  had  a  long  walk  ahead  of  them, 
and  that  Mag  might  even  then  be  watch- 
ing anxiously  for  their  return. 

So  the  boat  was  turned  about  again, 
and  when  the  stranger  had  set  the  boy 
and  his  dog  on  shore,  he  held  out  his 
hand  with  real  regret. 

"  Good-by,  my  boy,"  he  said;  "you 
have  done  more  than  you  know  this 
afternoon.  Will  you  come  again 
soon  ?  " 


A  New  Friend  85 

"Oh,  yes!"  said  Philip  eagerly;  "and 
I  believe  I  shall  never  forget  this  after- 


noon." 


"Nor  I,"  said  the  other  earnestly; 
"and  now,  let  me  see:  this  is  Mon- 
day, is  it  not?  Why  cannot  Dash  and 
you  come  over  again  on  Thursday  for 
another  row,  and  perhaps  some  fishing 
in  the  lake,"  and  as  Philip  would  have 
thanked  him  for  the  invitation  — 

"  There,"  he  said,  "  no  thanks,  please; 
but  come  on  Thursday.  And,  by  the 
way,  what  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Philip,"  said  the  boy  simply. 

"  A  good  name,"  said  the  gentleman, 
"  and  one  I  like  —  for  many  reasons. 
And  my  name —  is  Frederick."  He 
laughed.  "  You'll  remember  it,  I  hope  ? 
And  now,  good-by,  Philip." 

"Good-by,  Frederick,"  said  the 
boy,  and  as  his  new  friend  pushed 
off  from  the  shore,  he  scampered 
away  through  the  woods  towards 


86  Philip 

home,  with  Dash  following  closely  at 
his  heels. 

"Oh,  mother  dear!"  said  Philip,  as 
he  was  going  to  bed  that  night,  after 
having  talked  all  the  evening  about  his 
adventure  and  his  new  friend,  "  oh, 
mother  dear,  I  wish  to-morrow  was 
going  to  be  Thursday ! " 

And  Mag  smiled  indulgently  at  her 
boy's  enthusiasm;  but,  alas!  before  the 
Thursday  came,  events  had  occurred 
which  were  destined  to  change  quite 
entirely  our  little  Philip's  history,  and 
which,  among  other  things,  were  to  pre- 
vent his  keeping  his  appointment  with 
his  new-found  friend. 


Chapter  VII 
A  Mining  Tragedy 

WITHIN  doors  at  the  pretty  Low- 
down  Rectory  everything  was 
even  more  brightly  cheerful  than  usual 
for  the  contrast  with  the  dismal  storm 
outside.  The  breakfast  table,  with  all 
its  elegant  appointments,  was  waiting  in 
the  oak  dining-room,  and  at  one  of  the 
windows  in  the  same  room  was  a  group 
of  young  girls  waiting,  too,  for  their 
elders  to  be  ready  for  breakfast.  But 
they  were  not  early  risers  at  the  rectory, 
and  it  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  before 
the  family  and  their  guests  assembled 
around  the  table.  Mr.  Seldon,  the  old 
rector,  and  his  wife  lived  quite  alone, 
but  once  every  year  their  quiet  house- 

87 


88  Philip 

hold  was  enlivened  by  a  visit  from  their 
nephew  and  his  wife  and  children. 

The  party  had  arrived  only  the  day 
before,  and  the  children  were  lamenting 
the  storm  that  seemed  likely  to  keep 
them  in  the  house. 

"  I  don't  think  it's  much  of  a  hard- 
ship to  stay  in  such  a  lovely  house  as 
this,"  said  their  mother,  looking  around 
the  pleasant  room  and  smiling  at  Aunt 
Delia,  who  laughed  and  nodded  back 
from  behind  the  urn. 

"  Oh,  the  house  is  jolly,  and  so  is 
aunty,"  said  Marion,  the  oldest  girl; 
"but  I  want  to  run  out  and  see  the 
ponies  and  talk  with  Jim,  and  take  a 
look  at  the  peacocks  and  feed  the 
rabbits,  and  do  a  thousand  things  that 
the  rain  won't  let  me." 

"  A  thousand  is  a  large  number," 
said  her  father  quietly. 

"  So  it  is,  but  I'll  give  up  the  whole 
thousand  if  you'll  take  me  down  into 


A  Mining  Tragedy  89 

the  mine.  Papa,  I  ask  you  every  time 
we  come  to  see  Uncle  Seldon,  but  you 
never  do." 

Dr.  Norton  looked  uncomfortable, 
glanced  at  his  uncle,  who  seemed  to 
avoid  his  eye,  and  then  at  his  aunt,  who, 
on  the  contrary,  fixed  her  eyes  on  his 
very  expressively  and  sadly,  while  her 
lips  parted  as  if  she  were  about  to  say 
something.  Mrs.  Norton  kept  her  at- 
tention steadily  fixed  upon  her  plate, 
but  the  color  rushed  to  her  face,  and 
she,  too,  looked  ill  at  ease. 

"  Well,  what  have  I  said  ? "  said 
Marion,  who  was  something  of  a 
spoiled  child.  "  One  would  think  I 
had  done  something  out  of  the  way. 
You  all  look  as  displeased  as  Miss 
Hiller  does  when  I  wipe  my  pen  on 
my  pocket-handkerchief  or  get  a  blot 
on  the  copy-book." 

"  If  such  are  your  habits,  I  don't 
wonder  your  mamma  has  had  to 


90  Philip 

change  your  governesses  so  often,"  said 
the  rector,  seizing  the  opportunity  to 
change  the  subject  and  keep  the  con- 
versation in  his  own  hands  for  a  few 
moments. 

But  Marion  might  have  found  an 
opportunity  to  repeat  her  question,  had 
it  not  been  for  an  occurrence  which 
gave  them  something  else  to  think  of. 
Peter,  the  privileged  old  butler,  whose 
own  mother  had  been  the  rector's  nurse, 
and  who  consequently  felt  himself  to  be 
one  of  the  family,  came  running  into  the 
room  without  the  toast  he  had  been 
sent  for,  and,  without  waiting  to  be 
questioned  as  to  his  singular  behavior, 
exclaimed,  lapsing  into  the  speech  of 
his  earlier  years: 

"  Maister  !  maister  !  There's  been  a 
falling-in  at  the  mines,  and  Joe  Short 
he  have  been  up  to  say  there's  been 
men  buried  under,  an'  the  superintend- 
ent's down  with  'em,  and  there's  no  one 


A  Mining  Tragedy  91 

about  giving  any  orders  worth  taking, 
an'  he  says  the  skreeling  of  the  women 
is  fit  to  turn  the  head  of  one  I  " 

"  There  must  have  been  some  care- 
lessness with  uncovered  lamps,"  said 
the  rector,  rising  instantly.  "  Bring 
my  coat,  Peter,  and  get  ready  to  come 
with  me." 

"  I  am  going  with  you,  too,"  said  Dr. 
Norton. 

"And  I  will  follow  as  soon  as  I 
can  prepare  some  bandages  in  case 
they  should  be  wanted,"  said  Mrs. 
Norton,  "  and  some  brandy,  if  Aunt 
Delia  will  give  it  to  me." 

"  How  very  thoughtful  you  are, 
Grace!"  the  rector  stopped  a  moment 
to  say.  "  If  you  are  willing  to  come 
over,  you  might,  perhaps,  comfort  the 
poor  women  who  will  be  waiting  in 
agony  to  know  if  their  husbands  and 
sons  are  living  or  dead.  But  can  you 
bear  it,  dear  ?  " 


92  Philip 

"  I  can  answer  for  her,"  said  her  hus- 
band. "  Grace  is  a  surgeon's  daughter 
and  a  surgeon's  wife,  and,  delicate  as 
she  looks,  has  nerve  enough  to  be  a 
surgeon  herself." 

Half  an  hour  later,  Mrs.  Norton 
joined  her  husband  and  his  uncle  at  the 
scene  of  the  disaster.  There  had  been 
an  explosion  of  fire-damp,  and  eight 
or  ten  more  or  less  severely  injured 
men  had  been  brought  up.  Others 
were  buried  under  the  fallen  wall  of 
the  gallery  in  which  the  accident 
occurred,  and  all  the  workmen  were 
doing  their  best  to  dig  them  out.  The 
distress  of  those  who  feared  the  worst 
for  their  friends  was  terrible,  and  Mrs. 
Norton  turned  pale  as  she  went  through 
the  crowd  to  her  husband's  side.  Her 
arrival  was  most  opportune,  and  for 
hours  she  was  actively  engaged  in 
assisting  him  and  trying  to  give  some 
consolation  to  the  women.  The  over- 


A  Mining  Tragedy  93 

seer  was  not,  as  they  feared,  one  of  the 
missing,  nor  was  he  even  hurt,  but  was 
directing  the  work  of  rescue  below. 

At  last,  after  eight  hours  of  digging, 
word  was  sent  up  that  they  had  hopes 
of  speedily  reaching  those  who  were 
buried.  Their  shouts  had  been  feebly 
answered,  so  some  at  least  were  still 
living.  It  grew  dark  and  late  into  the 
night  before  they  were  reached,  but 
not  one  of  the  party  from  the  rectory 
would  leave  the  vicinity  of  the  mine. 

Old  Peter,  who  had  been  travelling 
back  and  forth  all  day,  brought  over  a 
basket  of  provisions  and  spread  supper 
for  them  in  one  of  the  miners'  huts. 
They  were  all  so  thoroughly  exhausted 
that  they  found  it  a  most  welcome 
repast,  and  it  was  fortunate  they  had 
taken  it,  for  almost  before  it  was  fin- 
ished Dr.  Norton  was  summoned  again 
to  the  shaft. 

They  had  brought  up  five  men,  —  two 


94  Philip 

of  whom  were  dead  and  the  others 
nearly  unconscious  —  a  woman,  and  a 
boy.  Mrs.  Norton,  already  overcome 
with  the  labor  and  excitement  of  the 
day,  felt  for  a  moment  that  she  could 
not  endure  the  sight  of  more  suffering, 
but  hearing  that  a  woman  was  among 
the  victims,  she  hesitated  no  longer,  and 
ran  quickly  to  the  shaft.  She  found  her 
husband  bending  over  a  woman  who 
had  been  laid  upon  a  plank  covered 
with  quilts,  preparations  for  carrying 
the  sufferers  having  been  made  hours 
before.  She  was  so  motionless  that 
they  were  all  sure  she  was  dead,  but  as 
the  doctor  raised  his  head  he  said : 

"  She  is  alive.  Take  her  to  her 
house  and  I  will  follow  you  instantly. 
Leave  her  on  the  board  till  I  come 
there." 

Then  he  turned  to  examine  the  others 
by  the  light  of  the  lanterns,  but  Mrs. 
Norton  followed  the  men  who  were 


A  Mining  Tragedy  95 

carrying  the  woman.  They  took  her 
into  a  little  hut,  no  different  from  all  the 
other  houses  about,  and  there  they 
waited  as  the  doctor  had  asked  them  to 
do,  keeping  her  still  on  the  plank.  She 
groaned  slightly  then,  and  Mrs.  Norton 
moistened  her  lips  with  something  she 
carried  in  a  bottle,  but  the  woman  did 
not  seem  to  be  conscious. 

Her  back  was  broken,  the  doctor  said 
upon  examination,  and  she  was  not  con- 
scious of  suffering,  and  probably  never 
would  be  again.  So  they  laid  her  upon 
the  bed,  and  Dr.  Norton  asked  his  wife 
to  leave  her  to  his  care,  with  the  assist- 
ance of  some  women  who  had  come  in 
with  him,  and  go  to  the  house  where 
they  had  taken  the  boy.  He  had  not 
been  working  in  the  mine,  it  seemed, 
but  had  gone  down  to  carry  a  message 
before  the  explosion  occurred;  he  was 
not  injured  in  any  way,  but  was  pros- 
trated by  partial  suffocation.  Mrs. 


96  Philip 

Norton  was  quite  equal  to  the  simple 
treatment  necessary  in  his  case,  and 
after  beef  tea  and  stimulants  had  been 
administered,  a  little  color  began  to 
creep  into  his  face,  and  he  asked  feebly 
for  his  mother. 

The  woman  on  whose  bed  he  was 
lying  shook  her  head  warningly,  and 
Mrs.  Norton  understood  from  her  gest- 
ure that  the  woman  who  lay  dying  in 
the  house  near  by  was  his  mother. 
Her  heart  ached  for  the  poor  boy,  and, 
putting  her  soft  cheek  close  to  his, 
she  petted  and  soothed  him  as  if  he  had 
been  a  child  of  her  own,  whispering  to 
him  that  he  must  be  very  still  and  not 
ask  to  see  his  mother  till  morning.  He 
was  still  very  weak  and  seemed  to  for- 
get that  he  had  asked  for  any  one,  and 
soon  dropped  asleep  with  his  hand  so 
tightly  clasping  hers  that  she  feared  to 
withdraw  it. 

And  there  she   was,  sitting   silently 


A  Mining  Tragedy  97 

by  his  side  and  studying  the  pale  face, 
from  which  she  had  washed  the  grimy 
dust  it  was  covered  with  at  first,  and 
brushed  back  the  thick,  fair,  waving 
hair,  when  the  rector  came  in,  and, 
after  looking  attentively  at  the  boy 
for  a  moment,  took  a  seat  by  her 
side. 

"  Grace,"  he  said,  having  first  sent 
the  woman  of  the  house  out  of  the 
room  on  some  trifling  errand,  "  do  you 
know  who  this  boy's  mother  is  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  them  speak  of  her  as 
Mag,  uncle,  but  I  do  not  know  of  any 
other  name." 

"  She  is  the  wife  of  your  husband's 
brother  Philip,  Grace,  and  this  boy  is 
his  son;  but  she  is  dying  now,  and 
all  the  hard  feelings  we  had  toward 
her  in  the  past  must  be  forgotten." 

"  Oh,  uncle,  I  have  always  wished 
to  see  her;  but  how  dreadful  that  it 
should  be  in  this  way!  Let  me  go  to 


98  Philip 

her  now. .  I  can  leave  this  child  in  old 
Dorothy's  care." 

"  Yes,  I  want  you  to  go  to  her  if  you 
are  willing,"  said  the  rector.  "  She  is 
anxious  to  see  her  boy,  and  we  have 
promised  to  take  him  to  her  when  he 
awakes.  George  says  she  will  prob- 
ably live  a  number  of  hours  yet.  She 
suffers  no  pain,  and  is  quite  conscious 
now." 

"  Oh,  is  there  no  hope  of  saving 
her?" 

"  None  whatever,"  answered  her 
uncle. 

"  Does  she  know  she  must  die  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  she  seems  to  have  no 
desire  to  live." 

"  Poor  woman !  What  a  sad  life  that 
must  be  which  one  is  so  willing  to 
leave ! "  said  Mrs.  Norton,  who  had 
been  gently  withdrawing  her  hand 
from  the  close  clasp  of  little  Philip's, 
and  getting  ready  to  go  with  her  uncle. 


A  Mining  Tragedy  99 

They  found  Mag  in  a  dull,  heavy 
sleep,  from  which  Dr.  Norton  said  she 
would  awake  again;  and  she  did,  at 
short  intervals,  all  through  the  night. 
As  morning  dawned,  she  awoke  more 
fully  and  asked  for  a  drink.  A  miner 
with  a  sorrowful  face  brought  it  in  a 
cup,  which  Mrs.  Norton  took  from  him 
and  held  to  her  lips.  She  drained  it, 
and  then,  looking  at  the  tender,  pitying 
eyes  fixed  on  hers,  said  fretfully: 

"What  brings  a  leddy  here  to  look 
at  me  ?  Take  her  away  and  bring  my 
boy.  And  who's  yon?"  she  asked 
half  fearfully,  as  Dr.  Norton  came 
across  the  room  and  laid  his  finger  on 
her  pulse. 

"  It's  Dr.  Norton,"  said  his  wife 
gently;  "your  Philip's  brother,  you 
know;  and  he  is  doing  all  he  can  to 
make  you  comfortable." 

"  Dr.  Norton !  "  said  the  dying  woman, 
in  a  strange,  awe-struck  whisper.  "  It 


ioo  Philip 

was  him,  then,  that  told  me  'twas  a 
death-blow  I'd  gotten,  when  I  asked 
him  in  the  night." 

"Shall  I  take  him  out?"  whispered 
the  rector,  thinking  his  presence  troub- 
led her. 

"No,  let  him  be,"  said  Mag,  her 
voice  husky  now,  but  as  strong  and 
steady  as  if  the  chill  of  death  were  not 
already  creeping  over  her.  "  Let  him 
stay.  I'm  fair  glad  to  have  him  see  me 
lie  here  broken  and  mangled  the  way  I 
am.  I  don't  ask  him  to  forgive  me,  but 
happen  it  will  be  a  comfort  to  him  to 
see  the  one  that  sent  his  brother  to  his 
death  taken  the  same  way  herself. 
Oh,  if  I  had  only  died  long  ago,  before 
I  brought  grief  to  them  all !  " 

Long  ago,  when  Philip  Norton,  who 
had  married  a  girl  very  far  beneath  him, 
met  with  his  violent  death,  his  brother 
had  said  that  he  never  could  forgive 
the  woman  who  had  been  the  means  of 


A  Mining  Tragedy  101 

bringing  such  unutterable  misery  upon 
Philip  and  all  who  loved  him.  But  as 
he  looked  down  on  her  now,  all  bitter- 
ness and  malice  faded  out  of  Dr.  Nor- 
ton's heart,  and  he  assured  her  in 
earnest,  broken  words  of  his  entire 
forgiveness. 

"  Good  words,"  she  murmured,  so 
low  this  time  that  Mrs.  Norton,  kneel- 
ing by  her  side,  could  hardly  catch 
them ;  "  good  words  to  hear.  Maybe 
if  he  can  forgive  me,  the  Lord  will." 

"  Indeed  He  will,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Nor- 
ton. 

"  Do  you  think  He  will  ?  "  said  Mag 
earnestly.  She  had  no  power  to  move 
her  neck,  but  she  turned  her  eyes 
eagerly  to  the  speaker.  "  I  heard  it 
said  once,  a  life  'ill  be  asked  for  a  life. 
My  life's  poor  pay  for  one  like  Philip's. 
I  never  was  one  to  know  much  about 
church  an'  praying,  but  I've  asked  in  a 
rough  sort  of  way  if  He  would  take  my 


IO2  Philip 

life  of  me  if  I  could  have  patience  to 
wait  till  He  was  ready,  for  many's  the 
time  I've  longed  to  put  an  end  to  it  my- 
self." 

She  slept  again  after  the  doctor  had 
given  her  a  stimulant,  and  her  son  was 
brought  in.  He  was  weak  and  pale, 
and  Mrs.  Norton  held  him  while  the 
rector  tried,  as  gently  as  possible,  to 
explain  his  mother's  condition  to  him. 
He  received  all  that  was  told  him  so 
quietly  that  it  was  evident  the  shock 
and  exhaustion  of  the  accident  kept  him 
from  fully  understanding  the  words. 

Again  Mag  opened  her  eyes,  and 
this  time  they  fell  upon  her  child. 

"Poor  lad!"  she  whispered;  "he 
was  always  so  fond  of  his  poor  mother, 
and  I  don't  know  who'll  care  for  him 
now." 

"  I  will,"  said  Mrs.  Norton  quickly. 
"  I  am  his  Aunt  Grace,  and  if  you  will 
trust  me  I  will  try  to  take  your  place 


A  Mining  Tragedy  103 

with  him.  And  I  will  not  let  him  for- 
get you." 

Mag's  face  darkened  with  the  look  of 
gloomy  reserve  that  it  had  worn  for  so 
many  years. 

"He  must  forget  me,"  she  said,  "  if 
he's  to  be  with  his  father's  people. 
The  very  thought  of  me  would  keep 
him  from  being  fit  for  them." 

"  Give  him  to  us,"  said  Dr.  Norton, 
who  had  exchanged  a  few  whispered 
words  on  the  subject  with  his  wife  while 
Mag  slept,  "  and  we  will  educate  and 
rear  him  as  Philip's  child  should  be." 

"  No,"  said  the  rector,  who  had  been 
weeping  silently  while  they  spoke, 
"give  him  to  me,  that  I  may  have  the 
opportunity  of  repairing  my  neglect  of 
him  and  you.  I  have  not  realized  till 
now  the  duty  I  have  owed  you  both. 
Philip  was  like  a  darling  son  to  us,  and 
his  boy  will  take  his  place  in  our 
hearts.  I  can  speak  for  my  wife,  for 


104  Philip 

she  has  urged  me  to  do  this  before, 
though  I  was  wicked  enough  not  to 
heed  her." 

Mag  had  watched  them  all  keenly. 
"  Let  him  be  Philip  over  again  if  ye  can 
make  him  so,  and  do  with  him  as  ye 
please,"  she  said,  not  making  any  deci- 
sion as  to  which  of  his  relatives  should 
take  him.  She  lay  quite  still  for  some 
time  after  that  with  her  eyes  closed, 
and  when  she  opened  them  again 
she  looked  about  fearfully  as  though 
alarmed  at  the  sight  of  so  many  strange 
faces.  "  If  the  ladies  and  gentlemen 
wouldn't  mind,"  she  said,  "  could  I 
have  just  a  word  alone  with  my  little 
lad?" 

In  tearful  silence  they  all  left  the 
room,  but  through  the  thin  partition 
they  could  hear  Mag's  low  voice  grow- 
ing gradually  fainter  until  it  ceased  al- 
together, and  the  sound  of  Philip's 
heart-broken  sobbing  filled  the  room. 


A  Mining  Tragedy  105 

Mrs.  Norton  stole  quietly  in,  and  kneel- 
ing beside  the  bed  gathered  the  boy 
gently  in  her  arms. 

"  Oh,  mother,  mother,  whatever  will  I 
do  without  ye?"  he  sobbed;  and  the  old 
clergyman,  coming  in  at  this  moment, 
laid  his  hand  on  the  boy's  fair  curls. 

"  I  pray  God  to  forgive  me  for  having 
so  long  neglected  that  noble  woman," 
he  said  solemnly, "  and  with  His  help  I 
will  try  to  be  a  father  to  her  boy." 


Chapter  VIII 
A  Great  Change 

AFTER  the  victims  of  the  disaster 
had  been  buried  in  the  village 
churchyard,  Philip  bade  farewell  to 
the  little  cottage  which  he  had  called 
home,  and  a  great  lump  gathered  in  his 
throat  as  he  turned  from  the  scene  of  so 
many  happy  days,  realizing  that  the 
past  was  now  a  closed  book,  and  that 
he  belonged  henceforth  to  his  father's 
people.  He  lay  back  listlessly  in  the 
carriage  beside  Mrs.  Norton,  his  eyes 
closed,  and  a  great  round  tear  rolling 
now  and  then  down  his  pale,  sad  little 
face.  Dash,  who  was  his  greatest  com- 
forter, lay  snuggled  up  close  beside  him 
on  the  seat,  his  watchful  eyes  fastened 

106 


A  Great  Change  107 

intently  on  his  young  master,  whose 
grief  he  seemed  fully  to  understand  and 
appreciate.  Mrs.  Norton  said  but  little 
to  the  sorrowful  boy,  but  she  made 
him  as  comfortable  as  possible  with 
cushions  and  shawls,  and  once  or  twice 
she  pressed  his  hand  with  tender  sym- 
pathy. There  had  been  some  discus- 
sion as  to  where  Philip's  home  should 
be  henceforth,  but  Aunt  Delia  had 
urged  her  claim  for  her  dear  dead 
nephew's  boy  so  warmly  that  it  was 
decided  that  for  the  present  at  least  he 
should  stop  at  the  rectory. 

The  surprise  of  Marion  Norton  and 
her  sisters  was  unbounded  when  they 
had  heard  as  much  of  Philip's  story  as 
it  was  thought  best  to  tell  them,  and 
great  was  their  curiosity  to  see  this  new 
cousin,  of  whose  existence,  even,  they 
had  never  heard  before,  and  who  was 
suddenly  to  be  introduced  to  the 
family  circle.  They  held  many  dis- 


io8  Philip 

cussions  among  themselves  concerning 
him. 

"He  is  just  about  your  age,"  said 
Marion  to  Rose  and  Lillie,  her  two 
younger  sisters. 

"  Then  he  is  eleven,"  said  Rose,  with 
dignity. 

"Yes,  but  what  do  you  think? 
Peter  says  he  does  not  know  how  to 
read." 

"  How  very  stupid  he  must  be ! " 
remarked  Rose,  with  an  air  of  superior 
knowledge.  "  I  shall  not  play  with 
him." 

"  But  mamma  said  we  must  be  kind 
to  him,"  said  Lillie,  "  and  love  him." 

"  I  shall  be  kind  to  him  of  course," 
said  Marion;  "but  I  can  never  love 
him,  because  I  consider  him  a  disgrace 
to  the  family.  I  am  so  thankful  that  he 
is  to  live  here  instead  of  with  us,  as 
mamma  thought  at  first  that  he  might 
do.  I  wouldn't  have  people  in  town 


A  Great  Change  109 

know  that  we  had  such  a  relative  for 
the  whole  world." 

Rose  was  much  impressed  by 
Marion's  sentiments,  but  Lillie  looked 
troubled.  Her  mother  had  told  them 
that  the  little  orphan  was  sick  and  sad, 
and  her  tender  heart  ached  for  him. 
He  had  been  carried  into  the  house 
and  straight  to  the  little  room  which 
Aunt  Delia  had  prepared  for  him  next 
her  own  ;  but  Dr.  Norton  did  not 
think  him  well  enough  to  see  his  young 
cousins  yet ;  so  Lillie  begged  a  little 
nosegay  from  the  gardener,  and, 
arranging  it  herself  with  the  greatest 
care,  sent  it  to  him  by  Peter,  charging 
him  to  say  that  one  of  his  little  cousins 
sent  it  with  her  love.  For  several  days 
the  graceful  act  was  repeated,  and 
Philip,  lying  on  the  lounge  in  his 
pretty  little  room,  learned  to  watch 
and  wait  eagerly  for  the  daily  token 
of  this  unknown  cousin's  thoughtful- 


no  Philip 

ness.  He  endured  no  pain,  but  suffered 
greatly  from  nervous  prostration  caused 
by  the  great  shock  he  had  undergone. 
For  hours  he  would  lie  with  his  eyes 
closed,  and  so  still  that  Aunt  Delia 
thought  him  sleeping ;  but  his  brain 
was  active,  and  at  such  times  he  was 
thinking  of  his  past  life,  and  of  the 
strange,  hardly  to  be  understood  change 
in  his  circumstances. 

He  had  been  provided  with  clothes 
befitting  his  new  condition  in  life,  and 
when,  after  a  few  days'  confinement  to 
his  bed,  he  was  able  to  put  them  on 
and  lie  on  the  lounge,  Aunt  Delia 
wanted  to  bring  the  little  girls  in  to 
make  his  acquaintance;  but  the  pro- 
posal threw  him  into  an  agony  of  shy 
terror.  He  was  full  of  curiosity  to  see 
them,  but  the  idea  of  facing  strangers 
was  insupportable ;  so  his  elder  rela- 
tives decided  that  it  would  be  best  to  let 
him  have  his  own  way  for  the  present, 


A  Great  Change  in 

hoping  that,   as  he  grew  stronger,  his 
desire  for  solitude  would  disappear. 

One  day  when  Mrs.  Norton,  who 
had  been  sitting  by  him,  was  called 
away,  he  fell,  according  to  his  custom, 
into  one  of  his  dreamy  reveries,  from 
which  he  was  startled  by  a  sound  so 
wonderfully  strange  and  sweet  that 
in  his  ecstatic  surprise  he  thought  he 
must  have  died  and  gone  to  heaven. 
Forgetting  his  shyness  and  weakness, 
he  rose  from  the  sofa,  and,  following 
the  sound  that  attracted  him,  went 
through  several  rooms  to  the  drawing- 
room,  where  Marion  sat  playing  a 
plaintive  Scotch  air  upon  the  piano. 

It  was  an  old  instrument  and  rather 
out  of  tune,  and  Marion  was  not  a  skil- 
ful performer;  but  to  Philip's  ears  the 
music  was  heavenly.  He  had  never 
even  heard  of  a  piano,  and  the  only  in- 
strument besides  his  flute  which  he  had 
ever  listened  to  was  a  violin  cruelly  ill- 


112  Philip 

used  in  the  hands  of  one  of  the  miners. 
The  genius  which  in  his  father  had  de- 
veloped into  a  talent  for  painting  had  in 
Philip  taken  the  form  of  a  passion  for 
music,  and  now  as  the  girl,  unconscious 
of  a  listener,  played  fragments  of  waltzes 
and  snatches  of  airs  for  her  own  amuse- 
ment, he  sank  upon  his  knees  and  buried 
his  face  in  the  cushions  of  an  easy-chair, 
unable  to  stand,  and  scarce  knowing 
whether  it  was  pain  or  pleasure  that 
thrilled  through  him  and  shook  his 
frame  with  convulsive  sobs. 

It  was  Aunt  Delia's  voice  that  roused 
him  from  his  trance  of  emotion,  and 
startled  Marion  into  the  knowledge  that 
he  was  in  the  room.  The  dear  old  lady 
had  come  in  to  see  if  it  was  by  her 
father's  permission  that  Marion  was 
pla}'ing,  as  hitherto  the  house  had  been 
kept  perfectly  quiet  on  the  invalid's 
account. 

"  Oh,  Marion  dear,"  she  said,  "  are 


A  Great  Change  113 

you  sure  the  playing  won't  disturb  your 
little  cousin?  But,  dear,  dear,  what's 
this?"  she  exclaimed,  almost  falling 
over  Philip  in  the  half-light  of  the 
room. 

"  Oh,  please,"  said  the  boy,  lifting  a 
tearful  face,  "  don't  stop  her,  and  do 
please  let  me  stay  and  hearken  to  her." 

But  Aunt  Delia  saw  that  his  strength 
was  gone,  and  was  firm  in  insisting  upon 
helping  him  back  to  his  room,  where  he 
lay  upon  the  lounge  entirely  overcome 
by  his  effort  and  excess  of  emotion. 

From  that  time  he  began  to  mend 
rapidly,  and  instead  of  the  dreary  mus- 
ings that  had  absorbed  him,  memory  fed 
his  poetic  fancy  with  rapt  recollections 
of  the  wonderful  harmony  and  the  beau- 
tiful young  girl,  like  an  angel  she 
seemed  to  him,  who  from  the  strange  un- 
musical-looking instrument  drew  such 
wonderfully  melodious  sounds.  He 
begged  so  hard  for  more  music  that 


114  Philip 

every  day  while  they  stopped  with  their 
uncle  the  sisters  played,  and  if  it  was 
only  the  practice  of  their  scales  and 
other  exercises  to  which  he  listened, 
his  delight  was  unbounded. 

He  no  longer  resisted  Aunt  Delia's 
desire  to  make  him  acquainted  with  his 
cousins,  and  so  they  were  brought  into 
his  room  by  their  mother.  Marion,  to 
gratify  her  curiosity,  came  eagerly  when 
first  permitted,  and  being,  in  spite  of 
her  mother's  wise  training,  excessively 
fond  of  admiration,  vastly  enjoyed  the 
dazzled  adoration  of  poor  Philip  for  her 
beauty  and  accomplishments.  But  after 
the  novelty  of  that  wore  off  she  began 
to  show  some  of  the  unlovely  traits  of 
her  nature,  and  to  assume  a  cold  and 
forbidding  manner  toward  her  cousin, 
who,  she  had  decided  on  first  learning 
of  his  existence,  was  a  disgrace  to  the 
family. 

Rose,    who     systematically     copied 


A  Great  Change  115 

her  elder  sister  as  nearly  as  possible, 
followed  her  lead  in  her  treatment 
of  Philip,  and  became,  after  the  first, 
cold  and  haughty  to  him  in  the  same 
proportion. 

So  it  was  left  to  Lillie  to  show  him 
how  loving  and  lovable  a  cousin  may 
be.  To  atone  for  her  sisters'  slights, 
which  his  utter  ignorance  of  the  world 
kept  him  from  fully  comprehending, 
she  devoted  every  spare  moment  to 
his  amusement.  She  talked  to  him  for 
hours  of  her  home  and  of  the  life  she 
and  her  sisters  led  there  —  of  their 
books,  their  studies,  their  amusements, 
and  every  detail.  It  was  like  a  fairy  tale 
to  the  boy  —  so  much  of  whose  short 
life  had  been  spent  under-ground.  His 
lips  were  sealed  about  that  dark  past, 
which  some  instinct  of  his  sensitive 
nature  forbade  his  mentioning  in  the 
new  sphere  in  which  he  found  himself. 

Perhaps   it  would  have  been  better 


Ii6  Philip 

if,  instead  of  burying  thoughts,  feelings, 
and  experiences  in  his  heart,  he  had 
frankly  thrown  himself  upon  the  sym- 
pathy of  his  cousin  Lillie,  who,  without 
receiving  any  confidence  from  him,  felt 
the  tenderest  pity  for  the  lonely  orphan, 
and  tried  in  every  way  in  her  power  to 
make  him  forget  the  shadows  that  had 
overcast  his  young  life. 

One  day  her  mother  and  sisters  had 
gone  to  drive,  leaving  Lillie,  by  her  own 
request,  to  sit  with  Philip.  She  came 
smilingly  into  his  room  after  watching 
the  carriage  drive  off,  but  Philip  was 
not  there. 

Not  much  surprised,  as  lately  he  had 
walked  about  the  house  when  he  felt 
disposed,  she  sat  down  to  wait  for  his 
return.  Presently  she  heard  the  piano 
in  the  drawing-room  touched  gently 
and  uncertainly,  as  if  by  an  unaccus- 
tomed hand,  then  more  confidently  and 
firmly,  and  at  last  with  energy  —  not  at 


A  Great  Change  117 

random,  but  harmoniously.  She  went 
to  the  door,  and  from  there,  unseen  by 
him,  she  saw  Philip  seated  at  the  in- 
strument, his  head  turned  bird-like 
upon  one  side,  and  his  fingers  actually 
bringing  music  from  the  keys.  As 
she  listened  in  surprise  —  for  she  knew 
he  was  playing  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life  —  she  heard  him  say  to  himself,  in 
a  half  whisper: 

"  Oh,  it  sings  for  me  I  it  sings  for  me !  " 
He  did  not,  as  far  as  she  could  tell, 
attempt  any  tune,  but  the  notes  that  he 
struck  were  in  harmony,  and  in  a  sort 
of  cadence,  very  different  from  what 
the  usual  performance  of  a  child  with- 
out instruction  would  naturally  be. 

Astonished  and  almost  frightened  by 
what  she  had  heard,  Lillie  crept  back 
without  having  been  seen,  and  went  to 
her  aunt's  room  to  tell  her  of  her  sur- 
prise, leaving  the  door  ajar  that  she, 
too,  might  hear  the  sounds  that  Philip 


Ii8  Philip 

was  making,  unconscious  that  they  fell 
upon  any  ear  but  his  own.  They  re- 
turned together  to  the  drawing-room. 
It  was  some  time  before  Philip  noticed 
their  presence;  when  he  did  so  he 
stopped  playing  at  once,  his  face  crim- 
son with  embarrassment. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  Aunt  Delia, 
putting  her  arm  about  him  in  a  motherly 
way  she  had,  "  I  did  not  know  the  old 
piano  had  so  much  music  in  it.  You 
must  have  a  teacher,  my  Philip." 

"Oh,  Aunt  Delia,"  cried  the  boy, 
with  shining  eyes,  "do  you  suppose  I 
should  ever  be  able  to  learn  to  play 
like  my  cousin  Marion?" 

Aunt  Delia  smiled  at  the  boy's  sim- 
plicity. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  you  will  un- 
doubtedly learn  to  play  far  better  than 
your  cousin,  but  first  you  must  grow 
quite  well  and  strong.  What  you  need 
now  is  to  play  and  romp  in  the  open 


A  Great  Change  119 

air.  Let  us  make  an  agreement. 
Peter  has  not  time  to  attend  properly 
to  my  flower-garden.  If  you  will  dig 
all  the  weeds  out  of  my  tulip-bed,  I  will 
see  if  I  cannot  persuade  your  uncle  to 
have  you  taught  to  play  the  piano." 

Philip's  answer  was  an  ecstatic  hug 
which  left  the  dear  old  lady  quite  out  of 
breath,  and  from  that  day  the  boy  spent 
all  his  spare  time  hoeing  and  digging 
in  the  old-fashioned  garden  behind  the 
house;  and  very  soon  the  pale,  slender, 
sickly-looking  lad  was  transformed  into 
a  brown,  sturdy,  long-legged  boy  whose 
happy  laugh  mingled  with  the  merry 
voices  of  his  cousins  as  they  played 
happily  together  in  the  old  garden, 
while  Aunt  Delia,  watching  them  un- 
observed from  an  upper  window,  would 
follow  him  lovingly  with  her  eyes, 
saying:  "  How  wonderfully  like  his 
father  the  boy  grows!" 


Chapter  IX 
Trials  and  Pleasures 

EFORE  Philip  had  fully  recovered 
his  health  and  strength,  his  uncle's 
family  had  left  the  rectory  and  returned 
to  their  city  home.  The  house  was  quiet 
enough  then,  and  Aunt  Delia  feared 
that  the  boy  would  pine  for  his  young 
cousins;  but  it  hardly  seemed  as  if  he 
missed  them.  Although  as  long  as 
they  had  stayed  they  had  been  objects 
of  intense  interest  and  admiration  to 
him,  it  was  almost  a  relief  to  have  them 
go.  The  secret  of  this  was  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  own  ignorance  which 
had  been  forced  upon  Philip  by  his 
cousin  Marion's  silly  desire  to  exhibit 
her  own  superior  wisdom  and  accom- 


Trials  and  Pleasures  121 

plishments.  The  foolish  girl  had  shown 
in  so  many  ways  her  contempt  for  her 
cousin's  lack  of  education  that  the  boy 
was  quite  unhappy  in  her  presence,  and 
the  sight  of  a  book  caused  him  the  most 
painful  embarrassment.  Aunt  Delia, 
too  kind  herself  to  think  her  niece  capa- 
ble of  wounding  her  cousin's  feelings, 
was  but  dimly  conscious  of  the  poor 
boy's  trouble  of  mind;  indeed,  she  had 
been  so  anxious  that  Philip's  health 
should  be  firmly  established  that  she 
had  purposely  delayed  making  any 
suggestions  as  to  his  settling  down  to 
study,  and  the  rector  had  quite  agreed 
to  the  wisdom  of  this  delay.  It  was 
not  until  after  the  Nortons  had  gone 
that  the  dear  old  lady  discovered  the 
trouble  which  was  preying  on  the  mind 
of  the  sensitive  child,  whom  she  already 
loved  as  though  he  had  been  her  own 
son. 

Stepping  into  his  room,  one  day,  with 


122  Philip 

a  handsome  volume  of  illustrated  natural 
history,  the  dear  old  lady  put  it  in  his 
hands  with  the  announcement  that  it 
was  full  of  nice  pictures. 

He  took  it  with  a  grateful  smile,  but 
tears  which  he  could  not  control  rushed 
to  his  eyes. 

"What  is  it,  dearie,  what  is  it?" 
exclaimed  kind  Aunt  Delia  in  amaze- 
ment, taking  him  in  her  arms  as  if  he 
had  been  a  baby.  "  Is  my  boy  fretting 
for  his  cousins  ?  Poor  fellow,  it  is  lonely 
for  you  here  with  only  the  old  folks." 

"  No,  no,  no,"  denied  Philip  emphat- 
ically, "  I  want  no  one  but  you.  I  never 
was  used  to  young  folks  anyway." 

"Poor  boy!"  said  Aunt  Delia,  kissing 
his  pale,  sad  little  face.  "  But  you  love 
your  little  cousins  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,"  was  the  reply  in  a  half 
whisper,  as  if  it  was  almost  irreverent 
to  confess  to  such  a  feeling  toward 
creatures  so  superior. 


Trials  and  Pleasures  123 

"Well,  a  year  seems  long  to  look 
forward  to,  but  it  soon  passes  by;  and 
before  we  know  it  next  summer  will 
come,  and  then  we  shall  have  the  girls 
again." 

Philip  did  not  look  as  if  the  prospect 
gave  him  joy,  and  his  aunt  saw  with 
puzzled  surprise  that  it  was  so.  She 
would  like  to  have  asked  him  why,  but 
there  was  an  odd,  unchildlike  reserve 
about  him  which  she  felt  a  delicacy  in 
attempting  to  penetrate.  To  relieve 
what  seemed  like  embarrassment  upon 
his  part,  she  dropped  the  subject  and 
again  turned  to  the  book,  which  had 
not  yet  been  opened. 

"  See,"  she  said,  "  here  are  lions  and 
tigers,  and  all  sorts  of  things  that  boys 
love  to  look  at."  To  her  surprise, 
Philip  pushed  the  book  away  and 
suddenly  threw  his  arms  around  his 
aunt's  neck  and  buried  his  face  on  her 
shoulder. 


124  Philip 

"Oh,  Aunt  Delia!"  he  whispered; 
"  I  am  so  ashamed  —  a  great  boy  like 
me,  and  not  able  to  read." 

And  then  Aunt  Delia  saw  it  all  in  a 
flash  —  the  boy's  shy  reserve  with  his 
cousins,  his  embarrassment  which  at 
times  had  puzzled  and  distressed  her. 

"My  dear  boy!"  she  cried;  "and  it 
has  troubled  you  so  much  that  you  are 
a  year  or  two  behind  the  other  children ! 
My  poor  foolish  Philip  I  " 

"  It  has  made  me  wish  many  a  time 
that  I  had  never  been  born,  or  that  my 
mother  had  taken  me  with  her  when 
she  died,"  murmured  Philip,  his  hand 
still  on  his  aunt's  shoulder. 

"  But,  my  dear,  it  is  so  easily  reme- 
died, this  terrible  ignorance  which  has 
made  you  so  unhappy.  Your  uncle 
and  I  have  only  been  waiting  until  you 
should  be  quite  well  and  strong.  But 
we  will  not  wait  another  day.  You 
shall  have  a  governess  as  soon  as  we 


Trials  and  Pleasures  125 

can  find  one  who  will  be  willing  to 
undertake  the  education  of  such  a  silly, 
stupid  boy,"  and  she  pinched  his  flushed 
cheek  with  playful  affection. 

But  Philip  was  not  entirely  reas- 
sured. 

"  A  governess !  "  he  said  doubtfully. 
"  Oh,  but  that  will  be  another  person  to 
find  out  how  ignorant  I  am !  " 

"  But  how  else  in  the  world  will  you 
ever  learn  ?  "  asked  Aunt  Delia,  smiling; 
"  and  besides  I  thought  you  wanted  to 
study  music,  and  the  governess  can 
give  you  lessons  on  the  piano  as  well, 
you  know." 

The  expression  of  doubt  on  Philip's 
face  cleared  instantly  and  he  smiled 
radiantly.  "  Oh,  Aunt  Delia,"  he 
cried,  "  it  seems  almost  too  good  to  be 
true!  Do  you  suppose  I  shall  ever  be 
able  to  play  like  —  like  Marion  ?  "  And 
Aunt  Delia  smiled,  but  wisely  said 
nothing.  Only  that  same  evening  she 


126  Philip 

nodded  sagely  when  her  husband  re- 
marked :  "  My  dear,  that  boy  has  cer- 
tainly a  most  remarkable  talent  for 
music." 

And  so,  indeed,  he  had,  as  well  as 
what  might  be  called  an  extraordinary 
musical  memory.  He  remembered 
every  tune  he  had  heard  his  cousin 
play,  and  there  was  not  one,  even 
among  the  most  difficult,  that  he  did 
not  pick  out  upon  the  old  piano.  Hesi- 
tatingly at  first,  with  his  head  bent  in 
the  bird-like  way  that  Lillie  had  no- 
ticed, his  fingers  would  wander  over 
the  keys,  touching  the  notes  of  the 
remembered  air,  then  striking  them 
with  more  assurance,  and  finally  weav- 
ing around  the  familiar  tune  strangely 
sweet  strains  and  chords.  Listening 
to  him  sometimes,  in  the  long  twi- 
light, Aunt  Delia  would  find  herself 
wiping  the  dimness  from  her  glasses, 
and  wondering  at  the  strange  power 


Trials  and  Pleasures  127 

his  untaught  playing  had  to  move  her 
as  no  other  music  ever  did. 

Philip  dearly  loved  to  have  her  for 
a  listener,  for  he  knew  his  playing  gave 
her  pleasure,  and  his  deep  gratitude  for 
her  goodness  to  him  made  him  rejoice 
that  there  was  even  one  thing  he  could 
do  to  gratify  her.  They  grew  very 
confidential  in  the  quiet  hours  they 
spent  together,  and  Aunt  Delia  explored 
her  memory  for  half-forgotten  stories 
of  her  own  youth,  and  once  she  was  led 
on  by  the  boy's  rapt  interest  in  all  she 
said  to  speak  of  the  dear  little  children 
the  Lord  had  blessed  her  with  for  a 
short  time  in  her  early  married  life, 
and  then  taken  to  Himself.  Philip 
wept  with  her  when  she  told  of  her 
sorrow  and  loneliness,  and  when  she 
kissed  him  and  called  him  the  blessing 
of  her  old  age,  his  heart  swelled  with 
proud  pleasure  at  the  thought  of  being 
any  comfort  to  one  so  dear. 


128  Philip 

It  had  been  a  thoughtful  suggestion 
of  the  rector's  that  Philip  should  learn  to 
read  under  his  aunt's  guidance  until  a 
suitable  teacher  could  be  found,  and 
from  the  time  of  Aunt  Delia's  promise 
to  teach  him  his  health  improved  with 
wonderful  rapidity,  and  the  persever- 
ance with  which  he  devoted  himself  to 
the  task  of  learning  to  read  seemed  to 
do  him  no  harm,  although  his  ambition 
led  him  to  spend  every  spare  moment 
over  his  books.  He  was  so  eager  to 
learn  that  Aunt  Delia  went  on  in  spite 
of  her  previous  decision  to  teach  him 
only  to  read,  and,  almost  before  she 
realized  that  she  was  doing  it,  found 
herself  instructing  her  enthusiastic  pupil 
in  writing  and  most  of  the  studies  that 
are  given  to  boys  of  his  age. 

He  was  so  charmed  with  his  own 
progress,  and  so  radiantly  happy  to  be 
able  to  read  nearly  as  well  as  his  cousin 
Lillie  the  books  that  she  used  to  read 


Trials  and  Pleasures  129 

to  him,  that  he  half  forgot  his  dread  of 
the  impending  governess  with  whom 
he  was  threatened. 

She  came  at  last,  but  there  was 
nothing  about  her  to  frighten  the  most 
timid  child  that  ever  lived.  She  was 
the  daughter  of  an  old  friend  of  the 
family,  who,  dying  in  a  state  of  almost 
destitution,  had  left  his  daughters  with 
no  capital  but  good  health  and  fine  ed- 
ucation for  their  future  support.  The 
elder  of  them  had  written  to  ask  Dr. 
Norton's  advice  about  the  steps  to  be 
taken  to  secure  positions  for  herself 
and  sister;  and  he,  after  consulting  with 
Aunt  Delia,  at  once  offered  the  situation 
of  governess  to  his  nephew  to  which- 
ever of  the  young  ladies  should  decide 
to  accept  it. 

The  younger  sister  it  was  who  came, 
and  so  far  from  wearing  the  expression 
of  being  a  terror  of  evil-doers,  her  poor, 
shy,  frightened  face  and  timid  manner 


130  Philip 

shqwed  so  much  embarrassment  and 
fear  of  strangers  that  Philip  felt  him- 
self quite  brave  by  comparison,  and, 
instead  of  shrinking  away  from  her, 
actually  found  himself  making  shy  little 
attempts  to  make  her  feel  at  home. 

Her  diffidence  wore  off  after  a  few 
days,  and  then  Miss  Acton,  the  new 
governess,  won  all  hearts  by  her  gentle, 
lovable  ways. 

Fortunately  for  Philip,  Miss  Acton 
had  had  a  fine  musical  education,  and 
she  took  perfect  delight  in  her  scholar's 
application  and  talent. 

"  He  is  something  wonderful,"  she 
said  to  Mrs.  Seldon  after  her  first  quar- 
ter's lessons.  "I  can  really  teach  him 
nothing  except  the  technicalities  of 
piano-playing.  His  interpretations  of 
certain  passages  surprise  me,  and  I 
believe  that  he  will  some  day  become 
a  truly  great  musician." 

He  made  great  progress,  too,  with  his 


Trials  and  Pleasures  131 

lessons,  spurred  on  by  his  desire  to  be 
able  to  read  well  before  the  return  of  his 
young  cousins.  When  the  sunshine  out- 
of-doors  was  particularly  inviting,  and 
when  Dash  was  showing  his  sympathy 
with  his  young  master's  impatience  by 
scratching  and  whining  at  the  door, 
Miss  Acton  had  only  to  say,  "  I  wonder 
if  Marion  will  think  you  have  improved 
in  your  reading,  Philip,"  to  make  him 
go  at  his  task  again  with  redoubled 
energy. 

Dash  did  not  approve  of  Philip's 
studious  habits.  Miss  Acton  had  tried 
excluding  him  from  the  school-room 
altogether,  but  he  was  so  unhappy  and 
would  whine  so  piteously  outside  the 
door  that  she  was  obliged  to  allow  him 
to  return  on  a  promise  of  good  behavior. 
Philip,  too,  had  impressed  upon  him  the 
necessity  of  preserving  order  in  the 
school-room,  and  he  soon  came  to  under- 
stand that  when  a  person  held  a  book  he 


132  Philip 

did  not  wish  to  be  disturbed.  One 
morning  Miss  Acton  was  slightly  indis- 
posed, and  as  there  were  to  be  no  lessons 
that  day  Philip  wandered  into  the  garden 
after  breakfast,  instead  of  going  as  usual 
directly  to  the  school-room.  Dash  of 
course  followed  closely  at  his  heels,  but 
he  seemed  to  think  that  something  was 
wrong,  and  several  times  he  would  walk 
slowly  toward  the  house,  looking  back 
as  much  as  to  say,  "Why  don't  you 
follow  me  ?  It's  school-time,  you  know, 
Philip."  But  Philip  paid  no  attention, 
and  at  last  Dash  trotted  into  the  house 
and  up  the  stairs  in  a  business-like  man- 
ner. Philip  had  just  time  to  notice  his 
absence,  and  wonder  at  it,  when  he 
returned,  carrying  something  in  his 
mouth  which  he  brought  and  laid  at 
Philip's  feet,  barking  joyously  as  though 
pleased  at  his  own  cleverness.  Philip 
stooped  to  pick  up  the  object  which  had 
been  dropped,  and  discovered  that  it 


Trials  and  Pleasures  133 

was  his  copy-book,  which  Dash  had 
fetched  from  his  desk  in  the  school- 
room. 

Miss  Acton  was  much  amused  when 
she  learned  of  the  occurrence,  and  de- 
clared that  hereafter  Dash  should  be  en- 
couraged to  remain  during  the  lessons. 
"  I  am  sure,"  she  said, "  that  if  he  could 
only  hold  a  pen  he  would  be  able  to 
write  as  well  as  Philip;  and  at  any  rate 
such  a  dog  is  a  valuable  mentor  for  my 
pupil." 


Chapter  X 
Aunt  Delia's  Secret 

ONE  year  made  a  great  change  in 
Philip.  He  worked  at  his  les- 
sons with  gentle  Miss  Acton  with  such 
ambitious  ardor  that  the  old  rector  and 
Aunt  Delia  feared  for  his  health;  but 
they  need  not  have  been  anxious,  for 
wholesome  food,  regular  habits,  and, 
above  all,  a  life  upon  earth  instead  of 
down  under-ground  was  building  up 
the  boy's  health,  and  bringing  a  sparkle 
to  his  eyes  and  color  to  his  pale  cheeks 
that  sometimes  reminded  them  of  his 
father  long  ago,  in  his  happy  boyhood. 
The  first  Philip  had  been  a  merry, 
frolicsome  boy,  whose  pranks  were  the 
torment  and  delight  of  the  household; 
134 


Aunt  Delia's  Secret  135 

but  the  little  son  who  had  never  known 
him  was  so  quiet  that  had  it  not  been 
for  his  music  his  presence  would  hardly 
have  been  felt  in  the  house.  His  quiet 
was  not  quite  to  be  called  sadness,  for 
he  was  not  unhappy;  but  the  forced 
repression  of  his  early  life  and  the 
shock  of  his  mother's  dreadful  death 
had  left  an  ineffaceable  impression 
upon  his  character.  Perhaps  in  time 
he  might  have  outgrown  this  tinge  of 
melancholy  if  he  had  been  thrown  into 
the  society  of  other  boys,  but  the 
entirely  tranquil  and  eventless  life  he 
lived  at  the  rectory  with  the  old 
couple  and  his  governess  only  served 
to  confirm  it. 

They  were  all  such  quiet  people 
that  they  never  thought  of  its  being 
strange  or  unnatural  that  a  child  should 
take  his  pleasure  in  the  pursuits  that 
pleased  them,  and  not  in  the  boisterous 
plays  that  boys  delight  in.  He  never 


136  Philip 

seemed  morbid,  but  was  constantly 
occupied  with  his  books  or  music,  and 
always  contented.  His  utter  unselfish- 
ness and  sweet  gentleness  endeared 
him  to  every  one,  and  there  was  not  a 
servant  on  the  place  who  did  not  adore 
him.  Old  Peter  would  have  laid  down 
his  life  for  the  boy  whose  father  he  had 
loved  so  fondly;  and  long  talks  the 
pair  often  had  of  the  days  when  the  old 
man  was  chief  counsellor  in  the  "  mud- 
dles," as  he  called  them,  that  the  boys' 
high  spirits  used  to  lead  them  into. 
"  The  boys  "  being  Philip's  father  and 
uncle,  the  subject  was  of  such  inex- 
haustible interest  that  whenever  the 
lad  was  missing  Miss  Acton  always 
came  to  Peter's  realm,  the  butler's 
room,  to  find  him. 

"  But,  deary  me !  "  the  old  man  used 
to  say  to  himself  sometimes,  with  a 
troubled  expression,  when  Philip  had 
been  with  him;  "  where-a-way  is  the 


Aunt  Delia's  Secret  137 

life  of  him?  Them  ones  had  life  in 
'em  that  'ud  make  'em  pull  the  thatch 
off  a  cottage  if  the  notion  took  'em. 
They  wouldn't  'ave  stopped  for  man 
nor  mortal,  them  lads  wouldn't,  but 
this  little  lad's  so  still  in  his  ways  that 
I'm  thinking  he's  gotten  some  hurt  to 
his  insides  that  no  one's  knowing.  It's 
no  so  strange  if  the  blow  that  killed  the 
mother  did  somewhat  ill  to  the  bairn,  so 
I'm  fearin'  this  world  won't  keep  him 
in  it  for  long." 

But  in  spite  of  Peter's  gloomy  fore- 
bodings Philip  grew  strong  and  well, 
and  kept  on  the  very  even  tenor  of  his 
way  till  the  summer  came  around  again 
and  the  inmates  of  the  rectory  were 
expecting  the  return  of  Dr.  Norton  and 
his  family. 

The  rector  always  grew  young  again 
when  a  visit  from  his  nephew  was  im- 
pending, and  Aunt  Delia,  who  had  ever 
looked  forward  with  delight  to  the 


138  Philip 

pleasure  of  having  her  children  with 
her,  now  had  a  double  happiness  in 
the  anticipation  of  their  pleasure  and 
surprise  in  finding  her  darling  Philip 
so  improved  in  health,  and  every  other 
way,  as  he  seemed  to  her  loving  eyes. 
The  joyful  expectations  of  the  old 
couple  were  therefore  unmixed  with 
any  discomfort;  but  Philip  and  Miss 
Acton  were  by  no  means  rapturous  in 
regard  to  the  coming  visitors.  The 
latter,  through  her  distressing  timidity, 
shrank  from  strangers  at  all  times,  and 
the  former,  for  reasons  which  he  could 
hardly  have  explained,  dreaded  seeing 
his  cousins  again. 

They  arrived  late  one  evening,  and 
in  the  unusual  chatter  and  confusion 
of  tongues  that  prevailed  till  his  bed- 
time came,  Philip  had  hardly  time  to 
remember  his  misgivings,  and  even 
Miss  Acton  found  the  ordeal  not  half 
so  dreadful  as  she  had  feared,  every 


Aunt  Delia's  Secret  139 

one  was  so  good-natured  and  genial. 
Marion  had  not  come  with  them, 
having  been  allowed  to  accept  an  in- 
vitation to  spend  the  summer  in 
the  Highlands  with  a  cousin  of  her 
mother's.  Philip's  admiration  and  dread 
of  his  cousin  were  so  mingled  that  he 
was  not  quite  certain  whether  her 
absence  was  a  relief  or  a  disappoint- 
ment, but  meeting  his  cousin  Lillie 
was  an  unmixed  delight.  Evidently 
she  had  looked  forward  with  pleasure 
to  seeing  him  again,  for  after  her  fond 
greetings  to  her  aunt  and  uncle  she 
immediately  asked  for  him,  and  he  was 
not  allowed  to  remain  in  the  back- 
ground. Aunt  Grace,  too,  embraced 
him,  and  Dr.  Norton,  with  loving  affec- 
tion, took  him  to  his  arms,  with  a  ten- 
derness in  the  tone  with  which  he  said, 
"  My  dear  boy,"  that  made  Philip  feel 
as  if  he  would  like  to  stay  by  his  side 
forever. 


140  Philip 

Rose  was  cordial  too,  although  it  is 
quite  probable  that  had  Marion  been 
present  and  chosen  to  exhibit  a  distant 
and  haughty  manner  to  her  cousin, 
Rose,  who  was  her  echo,  would  have 
been  chilling  and  disdainful  too. 

The  twins  had  both  grown,  but  Lillie 
was  still  taller  than  her  sister,  and  con- 
sequently older-looking,  which  was  a 
grief  to  Rose,  who  longed  to  be  grown 
up.  Philip  made  such  a  great  advance 
in  her  opinion  by  telling  her  she  always 
seemed  to  him  much  older  than  him- 
self that  she  felt  amiably  disposed  to 
be  very  gracious  to  him. 

Mrs.  Norton's  pleasant  manner  even 
overcame  Miss  Acton's  shyness,  and 
the  visit  that  had  been  thought  of  with 
dread  turned  out  to  be  a  very  charming 
one  for  all.  All  sorts  of  excursions,  in 
carriages  and  on  foot,  were  undertaken 
by  the  children  in  Miss  Acton's  com- 
pany, and  sometimes,  when  a  very  at- 


Aunt  Delia's  Secret  141 

tractive  place  was  to  be  visited,  Aunt 
Delia  and  Mrs.  Norton  joined  the 
party,  and  added  much  to  its  pleasure. 

"  Something  very  important  and 
mysterious  must  have  happened,"  said 
Dr.  Norton  one  evening,  "  for  Philip 
and  Aunt  Delia  have  been  running  in 
and  out  and  whispering  to  each  other 
for  the  last  half  hour.  What  is  the 
matter?" 

"  Wait  a  little  while,  and  don't  be  in- 
quisitive," said  his  aunt. 

"  But  how  can  I  help  it  when  even 
old  Peter  seems  to  be  aiding  and  abet- 
ting the  mystery  and  I  am  not  allowed 
an  inkling  of  it  ?  "  said  Dr.  Norton,  with 
a  pretence  of  feeling  very  much  injured. 

It  then  became  plain  to  every  one 
that  there  was  a  secret  to  be  fathomed 
and  a  plot  of  some  kind  going  on,  and 
instant  and  earnest  were  the  demands 
of  the  twins  to  be  intrusted  at  once 
with  the  secret. 


142  .      Philip 

"  Does  Miss  Acton  know,  Aunt 
Delia?"  asked  Lillie,  who  had  be- 
come very  fond  of  Philip's  governess. 

"  No,  not  yet,"  said  Philip,  answer- 
ing for  his  aunt. 

"Does  mamma  know?  "  asked  Rose. 

"  Nobody  knows  yet,"  said  Aunt 
Delia,  as  gleefully  as  if  she  was  a  child; 
"  but  now  you  may  all  know.  I  didn't 
want  to  say  anything  till  we  were  quite 
sure,  but  now  I  think  there  will  be  no 
failure.  You  know  Ashden  has  been 
closed  to  visitors  ever  since  the  family 
went  abroad  ten  years  ago.  Last 
summer  young  Mr.  Frederick  Ashden 
came  back  to  look  after  some  repairs 
about  the  place,  and  now  that  his  father 
is  dead  and  he  is  Lord  Ashden,  he  has 
decided  to  live  there,  and  the  house  is 
being  cleaned  and  put  in  order.  He  is 
in  London  now,  but  I  have  received  a 
note  from  him  in  answer  to  one  I  sent 
him  asking  if  we  might  go  over  the 


Aunt  Delia's  Secret  143 

house;  for  I  knew  that  it  would  be  such 
a  treat  to  you  all.  It  used  to  be  the 
great  show  place  of  the  country." 

"  Well,  is  he  willing  to  let  you  go  ?  " 
asked  the  rector. 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  he  says  he  only  re- 
grets that  he  may  not  return  in  time  to 
receive  us.  So  if  Thursday  is  a  fair 
day  and  you  are  all  so  disposed,  we 
will  make  an  early  start,  see  the  castle 
at  our  leisure,  take  lunch  in  the  park, 
and  then  come  home  in  the  afternoon." 

"  Who  is  going  to  be  generous 
enough  to  give  us  luncheon  in  the 
park?"  said  Rose. 

"We  shall  take  it  with  us  and  have 
a  picnic,"  said  her  aunt,  with  a  tri- 
umphant little  nod  of  her  head. 

"  But  how  will  you  all  get  there  ? " 
asked  the  rector,  still  disposed  to  think 
there  must  be  some  flaw  in  arrange- 
ments which  had  been  made  without 
his  assistance. 


144  Philip 

"  Oh,  that  is  all  provided  for,"  said 
his  wife,  with  another  little  nod.  "  Miss 
Acton  will  drive  Grace  in  the  pony 
phaeton,  I  am  going  in  the  carriage 
with  the  children,  and  Peter  is  going  to 
bring  the  provisions  in  the  little  tax- 
cart.  If  either  of  you  gentlemen  would 
like  to  come,  we  will  provide  a  way  for 
you,  too." 

"  Really  your  plans  are  very  perfect 
and  your  invitation  very  tempting,"  said 
Dr.  Norton,  "and  I  am  not  sure  but 
I'll  take  a  horse  and  ride  over  to  Ash- 
den  with  you." 

"Oh,  do,  do,  papa!"  exclaimed  his 
daughters,  while  Philip's  eager  eyes 
expressed  the  same  wish. 

"  But  it  won't  be  pleasant  Thursday, 
I  know  it  won't,"  said  Rose;  "it  will 
be  too  good  to  be  true,  for  us  really 
to  see  Ashden;  something  is  sure 
to  happen." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not,"  said  Lillie,  "  for  I 


Aunt  Delia's  Secret  145 

do  so  want  to  see  the  inside  of  that  won- 
derful place.  Only  think  I  There's  a 
ghost-chamber,  and  a  trap-door,  and  a 
lake  where  a  beautiful  countess  drowned 
herself." 

"Yes,  and  they  say  that  she  walks 
about  every  night,"  said  Rose. 

"  Then  I  don't  believe  she  was  really 
drowned,"  said  Philip. 

"  Oh,  Phil,"  said  Lillie,  laughing  at 
his  sober  face,  "  it  happened  a  hundred 
or  a  thousand  years  ago,  or  maybe  a 
million, —  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  how 
long." 

"  And,  oh,  won't  Marion  envy  us  if 
we  do  go  1 "  said  Rose,  as  if  exciting 
her  sister's  envy  was  a  large  part  of 
the  anticipated  pleasure. 

"  Does  Lord  Ashden  live  in  that  big 
house  all  by  himself  ?  "  asked  Philip,  as 
he  and  his  cousin  Lillie  went  out  to 
look  at  the  rabbits  after  supper. 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  is  so  sad,"  answered  Lillie ; 


146  Philip 

"  haven't  you  heard  ? "  And  as  Philip 
shook  his  head,  she  went  on,  lowering 
her  voice:  "Once  Mr.  Ashden  was 
married,  you  know,  to  the  most  be-a-u- 
tiful  young  lady.  Marion  saw  her  once, 
and  she  says  she  was  like  an  angel. 
Everybody  loved  her,  and  her  husband, 
they  say,  adored  her.  Well,  when 
they  had  been  married  only  a  year,  she 
was  thrown  from  her  horse  and  killed. 
Wasn't  it  dreadful  ?  They  say  the  poor 
thing  has  been  quite  a  changed  man 
from  that  day;  and  then  his  father, 
Lord  Ashden,  died  last  year,  and  so  now 
he  is  quite  alone  in  the  world.  He  has 
been  travelling  on  the  Continent  since 
last  summer,  but  now  he  has  come 
back  and  opened  the  place,  because  he 
knows  it  would  have  distressed  his 
father  to  have  it  neglected." 

"  Poor  Lord  Ashden  !  "  said  Philip 
gently.  "  I  think  I  know  a  little  how 
sad  and  lonely  he  feels."  And  Lillie, 


Aunt  Delia's  Secret  147 

knowing  that  her  cousin  was  thinking 
of  his  mother,  gave  his  hand  a  sympa- 
thetic squeeze. 

"Dear  Lillie,"  said  Philip,  "I  wish 
everybody  was  as  kind  and  gentle  as 
you  are ;  and  indeed  everybody  here  has 
been  so  good  to  me,  sometimes  I  wonder 
what  I  should  have  done  when  my 
mother  died  if  God  had  not  sent  me 
here — and  perhaps  poor  Lord  Ashden 
may  find  somebody  to  comfort  him  in 
just  the  same  way." 

The  children  were  silent  after  that, 
and  as  they  were  going  to  bed,  Lillie 
whispered  to  her  cousin :  "  I  say,  Philip, 
you  and  I  will  pray  that  God  will  send 
somebody  to  comfort  Lord  Ashden." 
And  pray  they  did,  and  the  next  day 
their  prayer  was  answered  in  quite  a 
wonderful  way,  as  we  shall  see. 


Chapter  XI 
A  Day  at  Ashden 

THURSDAY  was  as  fair  a  day  as 
English  eyes  had  ever  looked  upon. 
"Queen's  own  weather,"  said  Dr.  Norton 
at  the  early  breakfast,  which  was  taken 
hours  before  the  usual  time  in  order  to 
lengthen  out  the  long  day  of  pleasure. 

Even  the  rector  was  persuaded  to 
join  the  party  which  started  in  such 
gay  spirits,  in  the  order  proposed,  except 
that  Rose  gave  her  seat  in  the  carriage 
to  her  uncle  and  rode  by  her  father's 
side  on  a  shaggy  little  pony  hired  for 
the  occasion,  which  was  to  be  ridden 
by  Lillie  on  the  return  trip. 

Ashden  Park  was  like  a  fairy  domain 

to  the  children,  with  its  running  streams 
148 


A  Day  at  Ashden  149 

spanned  by  fragile-looking  bridges, 
mimic  waterfalls,  dense  labyrinths  and 
shady  walks;  but  Aunt  Delia  advised 
them  to  delay  exploring  the  grounds 
till  they  had  seen  the  wonders  of  the 
house. 

The  housekeeper  met  them  at  the 
door,  looking  so  very  grand  in  her  black 
silk  dress  and  lace  cap  with  floating 
strings  that  Philip  was  quite  awe-struck, 
and  thought  she  must  be  a  duchess  at 
the  very  least.  But  she  was  very  gra- 
cious, and,  having  been  told  by  her 
master  of  their  expected  visit,  was  pre- 
pared to  be  extremely  civil. 

"  His  lordship  left  word,  ma'am,"  she 
said  to  Mrs.  Seldon,  "  that  he  was  very 
sorry  he  couldn't  'ave  been  'ome  in 
time  to  see  you,  but  I  was  to  show  you 
every  attention,  and  after  you  'ad  seen 
the  house,  or  before,  just  as  it  pleased 
you,  I  was  to  beg  you  to  take  some 
lunch." 


150  Philip 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  said  the  rector, 
coming  forward  to  shake  hands  with 
Mrs.  Hardy,  who  was  one  of  his  par- 
ishioners, although  she  lived  so  far  from 
Lowdown.  "You  and  Lord  Ashden 
are  both  very  kind,  but  we  have  brought 
a  bite  with  us,  and,  if  it  is  not  a  liberty, 
propose  to  give  the  children  a  picnic 
under  some  of  those  royal  old  oaks." 

"  Well,  sir,  his  lordship  will  not  be 
half  pleased,  I'm  afraid,  and  perhaps 
you  will  change  your  mind  after  you 
'ave  looked  through  the  'ouse.  Fll 
show  you  the  first  floor  myself,  and 
then  if  you  won't  mind  I'll  let  one  of 
the  men  go  over  the  rest  with  you,  for 
my  rheumatism  makes  me  so  clumsy." 

They  begged  her  not  to  take  the 
trouble  to  show  them  any  part  herself, 
but  she  evidently  took  a  delight  in 
escorting  them  through  the  lofty  rooms 
and  halls,  which  they  gratified  her  by 
admiring  immensely. 


A  Day  at  Ashden  151 

Going  through  the  entire  house  was 
more  than  the  elder  members  of 
the  party  cared  to  attempt,  so  Mrs. 
Norton,  Miss  Acton,  and  the  children 
went  upstairs,  enjoying  the  confusing 
and  involved  galleries  and  passages  that 
led  to  suite  after  suite  of  rooms.  Those 
in  the  centre  of  the  castle  were  furnished 
with  modern  elegance  and  lightness, 
but  in  the  wings  the  rooms  were  dark, 
and  rilled  with  ancient  furniture  of 
gloomy  grandeur. 

"  This  is  the  room  in  which  his 
blessed  Majesty  King  James  the  First 
slept  when  he  was  entertained,  with 
nobles  and  gentlemen,  by  the  noble 
ancestor  of  his  present  lordship,"  said 
the  servant  who  accompanied  them,  pre- 
cisely as  if  he  were  reciting  a  lesson. 

"  Did  a  king  really  sleep  in  that  great, 
high,  black  bed  ?  "  said  Rose,  who  was 
deeply  impressed  with  the  grandeur  of 
the  place. 


152  Philip 

"I  suppose  he  did,  as  the  man  says 
so,"  said  her  mother,  smiling. 

"I  don't  half  care  so  much  for  the 
bed  the  king  slept  in  as  for  the  room 
where  the  ghost  lives,"  said  Lillie. 

"  Ghosts  don't  live,"  said  Miss  Acton, 
laughing. 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  do,  miss ! "  said  the 
man,  thinking  she  was  throwing  a 
doubt  over  one  of  the  attractions  of  the 
place.  "  She  stops  in  the  tower-room 
just  up  them  stairs  at  the  end  of  this 
gallery,  and  if  the  ladies  are  not  too 
tired  there's  a  beautiful  outlook  from 
the  window." 

And  there  was  a  superb  view  from 
the  upper  window  of  the  tower,  that 
well  paid  them  for  the  labor  of  mount- 
ing the  high  stairs. 

"  This  ghost  shows  good  taste  in  the 
selection  of  a  room,"  said  Mrs.  Norton, 
panting  and  out  of  breath  as  she  came 
behind  the  others  to  look  from  the  win- 


A  Day  at  Ashden  153 

dow,  "  that  is,  if  ghostly  persons  don't 
mind  stairs." 

"They  say,"  began  the  servant,  assum- 
ing the  recitative  tone  and  manner,  "  that 
'er  'eart  was  broken  along  of  'er  great 
attachment  to  Another,  but  'er  brother 
compelled  'er  to  marry  a  juke's  son  who 
treated  'er  ill  on  account  of  'er  love  for 
Another.  So  she  took  'er  vengeance  on 
'im  by  giving  'im  chopped  'orse  'air 
hin  'is  provisions,  which  consumed  'im 
in  great  agony.  As  soon  as  'er  hus- 
band was  killed,  she  wrote  to  Another 
and  learned  that  'is  love  was  'ers  no 
longer,  for  'is  marriage  with  a  rival  'ad 
just  taken  place;  whereupon  the  un- 
fortunate lady  was  seized  with  deep 
repentance,  and,  leaving  the  rooms 
she  'ad  formerly  occupied,  she  se- 
cluded herself  in  this  lofty  tower 
chamber,  refusing  to  eat  or  drink,  till 
one  day  the  maid,  knocking  for  ad- 
mittance and  receiving  no  answer,  'ad 


154  Philip 

the  door  broke  down,  and  found  'er 
lady  a  raving  lunatic,  which  she  flew 
past  'er  down  the  stairs,  and,  running 
out  the  door,  drowned  'erself  in  the 
lake  by  the  park  gate,  and  'er  uneasy 
spirit  is  said  to  'aunt  the  precincts 
ever  since." 

This  breathless  narrative  was  re- 
ceived with  much  amusement  by  the 
ladies;  but  the  children  were  quite 
awe-stricken  at  being  in  the  haunts  of 
a  ghost  with  a  regular  stopping-place. 

"  I  didn't  suppose  there  were  any 
real  ghosts,"  said  Philip  doubtfully. 

"Neither  did  I,"  said  Aunt  Grace, 
laughing,  "  and  I  cannot  say  that  I  quite 
believe  in  them  yet." 

The  servant,  whose  faith  in  his  ghost 
was  implicit,  here  pointed  out  to  them 
in  the  most  respectful  manner  a  fract- 
ure in  the  door  which  was  made  when 
it  was  "  broke  down,"  evidently  think- 
ing that  was  proof  enough  to  convince 


A  Day  at  Ashden  155 

the  most  sceptical.  So,  out  of  civility, 
his  audience  forbore  to  appear  to  ques- 
tion the  evidence  of  their  own  eyes, 
and  followed  their  cicerone  through 
the  other  rooms,  each  of  which,  in  the 
old  part  of  the  castle,  had  its  story  of 
family  or  historical  interest.  In  the 
chamber  of  an  ancestress  who  had 
been  maid  of  honor  to  the  queen  of  one 
of  the  Georges  stood  a  harp,  swathed  in 
its  ghostly  white-linen  cover. 

"What  is  it?"  whispered  Philip, 
whose  eye  was  caught  by  the  uncov- 
ered pedals. 

"  A  harp,  to  be  sure,"  answered  Rose, 
with  a  superior  air. 

"  A  harp !  "  repeated  Philip,  with  his 
eyes  shining.  "  Oh,  if  I  could  only  see 
it  with  the  cover  off !  " 

"  'Twouldn't  do  you  any  good  if  you 
did,"  said  Rose  unsympathizingly;  "  it 
would  be  all  unstrung  and  out  of 
tune." 


156  Philip 

"  But  I  would  be  so  glad  just  to  look 
at  it,"  said  Philip,  still  lingering  by  the 
muffled  instrument. 

"  Do  you  really  so  much  want  to  see 
a  harp  ?  "  said  Lillie,  coming  over  from 
an  inlaid  cabinet  where  the  beautiful 
maid  of  honor  kept  her  trinkets. 

"  Oh,  so  very  much,"  said  Philip,  in 
the  earnest  way  he  had  sometimes. 

"  Well,  I  am  not  afraid  to  ask  the 
servant  to  take  off  the  case,"  said  Lillie, 
skipping  up  to  the  man  and  making  her 
request,  with  which  he  complied  with- 
out hesitation,  slipping  off  the  Holland 
cover  and  revealing  to  Philip's  eager 
eyes  the  old-fashioned,  long-silent  in- 
strument. Over  it  hung  a  copy  of  a 
picture  they  had  seen  in  the  picture 
gallery  on  the  floor  below.  It  was  a 
portrait  of  the  owner  of  the  harp;  a 
pretty  figure  in  a  fanciful  shepherdess 
costume,  with  a  preternaturally  white 
lamb  clasped  in  her  lovely  fair  arms, 


A  Day  at  Ashden  157 

and  a  simpering  complacency  on  her 
pretty  pink  and  white  face  that  disposed 
the  gazer  to  doubt  the  possibility  of  her 
ever  having  awakened  the  true  soul  of 
music;  but  none  of  the  party  were 
treasonable  enough  to  contradict  the 
flunkey,  who  remarked,  as  he  noticed 
Mrs.  Norton's  study  of  the  portrait: 

"  The  Lady  Blanche  was  said  to  'ave 
played  'er  'arp  like  a  hangel." 

"  I  would  give  anything  to  hear  it 
played,"  said  Philip,  half  to  himself. 

"  There's  a  new  'arp  in  the  music- 
room,"  said  the  servant  civilly,  "  if  the 
ladies  would  like  to  play  for  the  young 
gentleman." 

"Well,  Philip,"  said  Mrs.  Norton, 
"  I  don't  play  oftener  than  once  in  six 
months  nowadays,  but  when  we  go 
down  I  will  try  to  gratify  you." 

Philip  was  happy  then,  and  felt  as  if 
he  could  hardly  wait  till  they  reached 
the  music-room ;  but  at  last  the  tour 


158  Philip 

of  the  house  was  completed,  and  the 
servant  led  the  way  to  the  chapel-like 
apartment  in  the  western  wing,  and 
there  his  aunt  tried  her  skill  in  tuning 
the  more  modern-looking  instrument 
that  had  belonged  to  the  late  Lady 
Ashden.  Her  performance,  after  she 
had  put  the  harp  in  moderately  good 
tune,  was  not  of  a  high  order,  but  it 
delighted  Philip,  who  listened  in  ecstasy 
as  she  struck  the  chords,  a  little  uncer- 
tainly it  is  true,  but  still  with  a  sweet- 
ness that  thrilled  the  sensitive  child. 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  play  on 
it?"  asked  Rose  of  her  cousin. 

"No,"  said  Philip,  shaking  his  head 
sadly.  "  I  could  not  play  on  it,  but  I 
wish  I  could  listen  to  it  always." 

"  You  would  soon  tire  of  my  miser- 
able playing,  child,"  said  his  aunt ; 
"but  when  you  come  to  see  us  you 
shall  go  to  the  concerts  and  hear  some 
music  that  is  worth  listening  to." 


A  Day  at  Ashden  159 

While  Philip  was  shyly  wondering 
whether  even  the  pleasure  of  listening 
to  the  best  of  music  would  compensate 
for  the  trial  of  seeing  strangers,  his 
uncle  came  in  to  say  that  Aunt  Delia 
had  prepared  their  lunch,  and  was 
waiting  for  them  in  one  of  the  little 
rustic  summer-houses  that  studded  the 
park. 

The  lunch  was  a  marvel  of  dainti- 
ness, for  Mrs.  Hardy  had  insisted  upon 
sending  out  the  creams  which  had  been 
frozen  in  preparation  for  the  repast  they 
were  expected  to  take  within  doors,  and 
a  splendid  display  of  pines  and  other 
fruit  from  the  hot-houses.  The  whole 
party  were  in  the  best  of  spirits,  and 
sufficiently  hungry  to  do  ample  justice 
to  Aunt  Delia's  good  things. 

Suddenly,  just  as  they  were  finishing, 
Mrs.  Norton  announced  that  she  had 
lost  her  handkerchief  and  notebook.  "  I 
must  have  left  them  in  the  maid  of 


160  Philip 

honor's  room,"  she  declared,  "  or  else 
in  the  music-room." 

"  May  I  go  and  look  for  them  ? "  said 
Philip,  springing  up. 

"  If  you  are  quite  sure  you  have 
eaten  all  the  cream  you  want,"  said 
his  aunt.  "But  don't  try  to  find  your 
way;  get  that  servant  with  the  cockney 
accent  to  show  you  again." 

Off  ran  Philip,  glad  to  be  of  service  ; 
and  the  party,  to  give  old  Peter  an 
opportunity  to  lunch,  adjourned  to  an 
arbor  in  view,  which  was  near  enough 
to  a  little  natural  lake  for  the  children 
to  run  to  the  margin  with  crumbs  for 
the  stately  swans  that  were  sailing 
about.  The  rector  and  Dr.  Norton  sat 
talking  rather  sadly  of  the  days  when 
old  Lord  Ashden  was  living;  then  they 
spoke  of  his  son,  and  of  the  sad  ending 
of  his  short  and  happy  married  life,  and 
in  the  midst  of  their  reminiscences  they 
were  surprised  by  the  sudden  appear- 


A  Day  at  Ashden  161 

ance  of  the  one  they  had  been  speaking 
of —  Lord  Ashden  himself.  He  had 
returned  a  day  before  he  expected,  and 
had  come  out  to  look  for  them.  His 
greeting  to  his  old  teacher  and  fellow- 
pupil  was  warm  and  cordial,  and  after 
paying  his  respects  to  the  ladies  he 
joined  them  in  recalling  incidents  and 
exploits  of  his  boyish  days. 

"  And  you  have  taken  poor  Philip's 
child,  I  hear.  •  It  was  brave  and  kind 
of  you  to  acknowledge  him,"  said  he> 
looking  affectionately  at  the  rector. 

"  It  was  a  kindness  we  should  have 
shown  before,"  said  Dr.  Norton. 

"  Where  is  the  boy  ?  Does  he  in- 
herit his  father's  genius  and  beauty?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Aunt  Delia,  turning  her 
sweet,  benevolent  face  upon  the 
speaker,  u  our  little  Philip  seems  to 
have  taken  every  pleasant  trait  of  his 
father's,  and  a  sweeter  child  I  never 
saw." 


162  Philip 

"  I  must  see  Philip's  boy,"  said  Lord 
Ashden,  with  a  sigh  of  retrospection. 
"Poor  Philip!  He  literally  threw 
away  his  life ;  and  such  a  life  —  so  full 
of  hope  and  promise.  I  hope  this  boy's 
life  may  be  a  happier  one  than  his 
father's  was."  And  he  strode  off 
toward  the  house,  where  they  told  him 
Philip  would  be  found,  impelled  by  a 
feeling  of  real  interest,  the  first  he 
had  experienced  in  many  sad  and 
weary  months. 


Chapter   XII 
The  Renewal  of  an  Acquaintance 

T^OLLOWING  Mrs.  Seldon's  direc- 
JL  tions,  Lord  Ashden  climbed  the 
narrow  stairs  which  led  to  the  haunted 
chamber.  And  as  he  approached  the 
room  he  was  surprised  to  hear  a  faint 
tinkling  sound  as  of  some  one  running 
his  fingers  over  the  keys  of  an  old 
piano.  Lord  Ashden  was  puzzled, 
and  approaching  more  softly  he  gently 
pushed  open  the  door  of  the  room  and 
looked  within.  It  was  a  pretty  picture 
upon  which  his  eyes  rested,  and  one 
which  he  long  remembered.  A  fair, 
slender  lad  with  a  pale,  expressive  face, 
which  reminded  the  silent  on-looker  of 
the  well-known  portrait  of  Milton  at  the 
163 


164  Philip 

age  of  twelve,  was  standing  beside 
the  old  harp  which  had  belonged  to  the 
poor,  foolish  maid  of  honor.  He  was 
touching  the  dusty  strings  with  the 
greatest  care  and  reverence,  and  a 
smile  of  perfect  delight  played  about 
his  sensitive,  mobile  mouth.  But  Lord 
Ashden  did  not  remain  long  unob- 
served, for  a  shaggy  little  dog  which 
had  been  lying  quietly  at  the  boy's  feet 
raised  his  head,  and,  perceiving  the 
stranger,  began  to  bark  fiercely. 

"  Down,  Dash !  "  said  Lord  Ashden, 
advancing  into  the  room  and  holding 
out  his  hand. 

"  As  I  live,  my  old  friend  Philip  and 
his  dog  Dash !  How  stupid  I  was  not  to 
know  that  those  eyes  could  belong  only 
to  Philip  Norton's  boy!"  And  Philip 
remembered  in  a  flash  the  happy  day, 
now  more  than  a  year  since,  which  he 
and  Dash  had  spent  on  the  lake  with 
the  tall  stranger  whose  name  was 


The  Renewal  of  an  Acquaintance   165 

"  Frederick."  He  quite  forgot  his  awe 
of  Lord  Ashden  in  explaining  why  he 
had  not  returned  for  the  promised  row 
on  the  lake,  and  he  found  himself  talk- 
ing easily,  and  with  no  sense  of  reserve, 
to  this  tall  stranger  whom  he  already 
looked  up  to  with  boyish  love  and 
almost  reverence. 

"  So  your  mother  is  dead,"  said  Lord 
Ashden  kindly.  "  Poor  little  chap,  I 
think  I  know  somewhat  how  it  feels 
to  always  carry  an  aching  heart.  You 
must  tell  me  all  about  her  some  day. 
I  have  always  wanted  to  know  more 
about  Philip  Norton's  wife;  but  let  me 
tell  you,  my  boy,  that  you  have  reason 
to  be  proud  of  your  father." 

"  Did  you  know  my  father  so  very 
well  ?  "  asked  Philip  timidly,  hoping  to 
hear  something  about  him. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Lord  Ashden. 
"  Has  no  one  told  you  that  we  were 
chums  at  college?  —  and  afterward  we 


166  Philip 

travelled  together  for  over  a  year.  Your 
father  was  an  artist,  you  know,  and  I 
had  a  painting  fever  myself  in  those 
days,  and  used  to  perch  by  poor  Philip's 
side  day  after  day,  copying  the  same 
picture." 

"  And  are  you  an  artist,  too  ? "  said 
Philip,  with  a  kind  of  reverent  sur- 
prise. 

"  No,  Phil,"  said  his  lordship,  with  a 
little  laugh  which  turned  into  a  sigh, 
"neither  that  nor  anything  else  that  I 
hoped  to  be." 

"  I  am  sure,"  whispered  Philip,  "  that 
you  are  everything  that  is  good,  and  I  am 
so  glad  you  were  fond  of  my  father." 

"  No  one  could  resist  him,"  said 
Lord  Ashden,  looking  kindly  at  the 
boy.  "I  never  saw  any  one  make 
friends  as  he  did.  Poor  fellow  1  What 
a  bright  future  every  one  prophesied 
for  him,  and  how  dreadful  the  tragic 
ending  of  such  a  life  of  promise ! " 


The  Renewal  of  an  Acquaintance    167 

Lord  Ashden  forgot,  in  his  memories 
of  a  past  time,  that  he  was  speaking  to 
the  son  of  the  man  whose  fate  he  was 
mourning,  and  for  a  little  while  he 
seemed  lost  in  reverie.  Philip  felt 
flushed  and  uncomfortable,  and  had  a 
miserable  feeling  that  he  was  in  some 
way  to  blame  for  his  father's  fate.  But 
no  such  thought  was  in  Lord  Ashden's 
mind.  After  a  few  moments  of  silence 
he  seemed  to  wake  to  the  fear  that  he 
had  been  neglecting  his  young  com- 
panion. 

"  Poor  Phil ! "  he  said,  laying  his  hand 
caressingly  upon  his  shoulder!  "you 
can  never  know  how  worthy  your  father 
was  of  love,  or  how  he  would  have 
loved  you." 

"  Oh,  would  he  have  loved  me  ? " 
exclaimed  Philip  eagerly. 

"Would  he?"  said  Lord  Ashden  in 
surprise;  "of  course  he  would;  what 
doubt  could  there  be?" 


1 68  Philip 

"I  thought — I  was  afraid — I  mean 
— I  didn't  know,"  said  Philip,  hesitating 
and  feeling  that  he  was  on  dangerous 
ground. 

"  What  did  you  think  and  fear,  and 
what  didn't  you  know  ?  "  said  his  friend, 
smiling. 

Philip's  embarrassment  continued,  but 
he  saw  a  look  of  expectancy  in  the 
eyes  turned  to  his  which  made  him 
feel  that  an  answer  was  necessary. 
He  had  never  been  forbidden  to  men- 
tion his  mother,  but  he  felt  instinc- 
tively that  his  relatives  did  not  expect 
to  hear  her  alluded  to.  Now  he  felt 
that  he  could  not  explain  his  feelings 
without  speaking  of  her,  and  hence  his 
confusion :  but  there  was  no  escape  now, 
so  he  honestly  uttered  his  thoughts. 

"  I  thought  he  would  have  disliked 
me  on  account  of  my  mother,"  said  he, 
hanging  his  head  to  conceal  his  flushed 
face. 


The  Renewal  of  an  Acquaintance   169 

"  Dislike  you  on  account  of  your 
mother  ?  "  repeated  the  other  in  sur- 
prise. 

"  Yes,"  said  Philip,  still  keeping  his 
face  out  of  sight.  "  She  was  not  like 
him,  you  know." 

"  I  do  not  see  how  that  should  make 
any  difference,"  said  Lord  Ashden 
gravely.  "  Has  any  one  said  anything 
to  you  against  your  mother?  " 

"  One  of  my  cousins  said  once  that 
she  brought  disgrace  upon  the  family," 
murmured  Philip.  He  might  have 
added  that  Marion  also  called  her  a 
low,  common  woman,  but  he  could 
not  have  told  that. 

"  For  shame ! "  exclaimed  Lord  Ash- 
den.  "  Now  listen,  Philip,  to  what  I 
have  to  say  of  your  mother.  I  never 
saw  her,  you  know,  because  —  well,  I 
never  did  see  her,  but  I  understand 
that  she  was  not  only  beautiful,  but 
also  good,  true,  and  noble.  A  mother 


170  Philip 

that  any  boy  might  be  very  fond  and 
proud  of." 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  was  all  that  and  more," 
cried  Philip,  his  eyes  full  of  tears  of 
sorrow  and  of  pride  to  hear  his  mother 
so  praised;  and  then  suddenly  the  sor- 
row conquered  all  else  and  he  began 
to  sob.  Lord  Ashden  was  in  dismay, 
but  Philip  soon  looked  up,  smiling 
through  his  tears. 

"  You  must  excuse  me,"  he  said, 
"  but,  kind  as  everybody  is  to  me,  I  do 
miss  my  mother  terribly.  Oh,  ter- 
ribly!" 

Lord  Ashden's  face  had  softened,  and 
he  was  looking  through  the  window  far 
away  across  the  distant  hills. 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  he  said  bitterly. 
"  No  one  can  fill  her  place,  no  one." 
His  face  had  grown  suddenly  wan  and 
almost  haggard,  and  Philip  remem- 
bered in  an  instant  the  fair  young  wife 
of  whom  Lillie  had  said  that  she  was 


The  Renewal  of  an  Acquaintance    171 

as  beautiful  as  an  angel,  and  that  she 
had  only  lived  a  year  after  their  mar- 
riage. He  stole  up  to  Lord  Ashden 
and  slipped  his  small  hand  into  his;  the 
other  turned  and  looked  down  upon 
him  with  a  swift  change  of  expression. 

"  Thanks,  my  little  man;  I  think  we 
understand  each  other,  do  we  not? 
And  see  here,  let  us  make  a  compact, 
with  Dash  as  a  witness,  that  from  this 
day  forward  you  and  I  shall  be  friends, 
eh  ?  —  what  do  you  say,  my  boy  ?  " 

"Oh,  Lord  Ashden!"  cried  Philip 
delightedly;  "do you  really  mean  it?" 

"  Here's  my  hand  on  it,"  he  replied. 
"  Did  I  hurt  you  ?  I'm  not  used  to  such 
a  scrap  of  a  hand,  you  see.  Come  now, 
we  will  go  down  and  see  if  we  can  per- 
suade your  aunt  and  uncle  to  let  you 
come  over  to  Ashden  again,  day  after 
to-morrow.  I  want  your  opinion  on  a 
violin  I  am  thinking  of  buying,  and  then 
perhaps  I  may  let  you  try  it  yourself. 


172  Philip 

Did  you  ever  handle  a  bow  ?  But  see 
here:  if  you  are  going  to  look  like  a 
transfigured  seraph  every  time  I  speak 
of  music,  I  sha'n't  let  you  hear  a  note 
until  you  have  learned  to  row  me  about 
on  the  lake.  But  now  if  we  don't  go 
downstairs  and  join  the  rest  of  the  party, 
they  will  think  that  the  ghost  of  the 
beautiful  countess  has  made  away  with 
us." 

Mrs.  Seldon  looked  up  in  surprise  as 
she  saw  Lord  Ashden  and  Philip  ad- 
vancing toward  her,  hand  in  hand, 
across  the  lawn,  Dash  following  closely 
at  their  heels. 

"  Only  see,  my  dear,"  she  said  to  her 
husband,  "  Frederick  is  actually  smil- 
ing. I  really  believe  that  dear  child 
could  make  the  Sphinx  love  him;  and 
he  grows  so  like  his  father!  Frederick 
must  see  it,  and  perhaps  —  who  knows  ? 
—  little  Philip  may  help  to  fill  the  vacant 
place  in  that  big,  lonely  heart." 


The  Renewal  of  an  Acquaintance    173 

"  Ah,  Philip,"  she  said  as  they  came 
nearer,  "  so  you  and  Lord  Ashden  are 
friends  already  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we  find  that  we  have  met  be- 
fore," said  Lord  Ashden,  smiling,  "  and 
we  have  come  especially  to  ask  you, 
please,  to  lend  me  your  Philip  now  and 
then  for  a  day  at  Ashden.  It  is  in- 
sufferably dull  and  lonely  here  for  me, 
you  know,  Aunt  Delia,  but  I  believe  if 
I  had  Philip  and  Dash  to  help  me  it 
would  not  be  so  difficult  to  kill  time  at 
Ashden." 

"  You  shall  have  my  boy  as  often  as 
you  wish,  on  one  condition,"  said  Aunt 
Delia,  beaming  on  the  pair  through 
her  spectacles,  "  and  that  is  that  you 
promise  to  come  over  to  Lowdown  each 
time  to  fetch  him,  and  that  when  you 
bring  him  back  you  will  stay  for  supper 
at  the  rectory." 

"  Agreed,"  said  Lord  Ashden  with 
a  handshake,  the  heartiness  of  which 


174  Philip 

made  the  old  lady  wince;  "but  now, 
Philip,  let  us  go  and  find  the  little  girls 
and  take  them  for  a  row  on  the  lake. 
We  must  not  forget  the  ladies,  you 
know. " 


Chapter  XIII 
Lord  Ashden's  Plan 

"  I  ^"HAT  was  the  first  of  many  happy 
-L  days  which  Philip  was  to  spend 
at  Ashden.  Lord  Ashden  would 
drive  over  to  Lowdown  two  or  three 
times  a  week  and  carry  him  off  for  the 
day,  appearing  to  find  real  pleasure  in 
the  boy's  society;  and  Aunt  Delia  was 
overjoyed  to  notice  that  the  sad  fits  of 
despondency  to  which  he  had  been  sub- 
ject since  the  death  of  his  young  wife 
seemed  to  have  grown  less  frequent 
since  he  had  made  a  companion  of 
Philip.  The  boy  seemed  to  fit  per- 
fectly into  his  moods,  and  very  soon 
learned  to  understand  when  his  com- 
panion wished  to  be  diverted,  or  when 
175 


176  Philip 

he  cared  only  to  sit  quietly  in  the  boat, 
or  under  a  tree,  with  a  book,  which  at 
such  times  Philip  noticed  he  only  pre- 
tended to  be  reading,  while  his  thoughts 
were  far  away. 

The  boy  knew  then  that  he  was  think- 
ing of  her,  and  his  loving  heart  longed 
to  comfort  his  friend.  And,  indeed, 
his  affection  and  sympathy  did  comfort 
Lord  Ashden,  love  being  a  wonderful 
balsam  for  wounded  hearts.  Some- 
times the  sad  and  lonely  man  would 
talk  to  Philip  of  his  young  wife,  of  her 
radiant  beauty,  which  was  but  the  out- 
ward expression  of  her  singularly  sweet 
and  noble  nature,  of  her  winning  grace 
of  manner  and  the  thousand  varying 
moods  which  made  her  society  a  con- 
tinual delight  to  her  husband;  and 
then  one  day  he  spoke  to  Philip  of  that 
awful  day  when  he  had  raised  her  in 
his  arms  from  the  roadside,  so  white 
and  still,  and  when  he  had  prayed  that 


Lord  Ashden's  Plan  177 

he  might  die  too.  It  is  a  tragic  sight  to 
see  a  strong  man  weep  as  Lord  Ashden 
did  that  afternoon,  and  Philip  held 
him  close  in  his  loving  arms,  as  his 
mother  had  been  used  to  do  with  him 
when  he  was  struggling  with  some 
childish  grief. 

From  that  day  the  two  friends  seemed 
to  be  drawn  more  closely  together; 
Lord  Ashden  talked  often  to  Philip  of 
his  friendship  with  the  latter's  father, 
and  Philip  told  him  some  things  his 
mother  had  told  him  of  the  years  after 
his  marriage,  when  he  had  withdrawn 
so  completely  from  his  old  associates 
and  friends. 

"  Dear  old  Phil ! "  Lord  Ashden  would 
exclaim.  "  I  shall  never  forgive  myself 
for  not  having  insisted  upon  seeing  him; 
and  yet  it  would  doubtless  have  caused 
him  real  humiliation  and  pain  to  have 
been  sought  out  by  his  old  friends,  in  such 
altered  conditions.  Well,  at  least  I  can 


178  Philip 

try  to  make  up  for  it  all  by  doing  what 
I  can  for  little  Philip,  eh,  my  lad  ?  And 
now,"  he  would  say,  jumping  up  sud- 
denly, "  let  us  go  indoors  for  a  little 
music.  What  shall  it  be  this  afternoon, 
your  favorite  Mendelssohn  or  some 
more  Schubert?" 

This  was  the  way  in  which,  after  a 
morning  spent  out-of-doors,  their  after- 
noons were  pretty  sure  to  be  passed. 
Lord  Ashden  had  had  a  fine  musical 
education,  and  he  possessed  the  keen 
appreciation  of  genius  which  is  itself  a 
kind  of  genius;  he  soon  discovered  that 
Philip  possessed  a  most  unusual  aptitude 
for  the  violin,  and  he  set  himself  to  the 
task  of  teaching  him  to  play,  at  first  for 
the  diversion  which  it  afforded  himself, 
and  then  for  the  real  delight  which  he 
felt  in  the  boy's  progress. 

One  afternoon,  late  in  the  summer, 
when  he  had  been  accompanying  his 
pupil  on  the  piano  through  a  very  diffi- 


Lord  Ashden's  Plan  179 

cult  concerto,  he  stopped  suddenly  and, 
wheeling  about  on  the  piano-stool,  laid 
his  hands  on  Philip's  shoulders. 

"  See  here,  my  boy,"  he  said,  "  / 
can't  teach  you  any  more;  an  interpre- 
tation like  that  is  not  learned,  but 
gained  by  direct  intuition;  you  have 
lots  of  work  to  do  yet,  of  course,  and 
your  bowing  is  not  perfect  by  any 
means;  but  —  well,  you  just  keep  on 
practising  while  I  think  out  a  scheme 
of  my  own." 

A  few  days  after  this  Lord  Ashden 
rode  over  to  Lowdown  and  requested 
an  interview  with  the  rector  and  Aunt 
Delia  in  the  former's  study. 

"  No  one  under  thirteen  years  of  age 
admitted,"  he  said,  laughing  as  the 
children  gathered  around  him  in  the 
hall  as  usual.  The  three  friends  were 
closeted  for  more  than  an  hour,  and 
when  they  came  out  Aunt  Delia's  eyes 
were  red  as  though  she  had  been  weep- 


i8o  Philip 

ing,  yet  she  looked  very  happy  too; 
and  at  supper  she  exchanged  meaning 
glances  with  her  husband  when  the 
children  inquired  why  Lord  Ashden  had 
not  remained  with  them  as  usual. 

When  bedtime  came  Philip  was  told 
to  remain  in  the  library  after  the  other 
children  had  gone  upstairs,  and  then 
the  secret  of  the  afternoon's  conference 
was  explained.  Lord  Ashden  had 
ridden  over  from  Ashden  to  ask  per- 
mission to  take  Philip  abroad  for  a 
musical  education  such  as  he  believed 
could  be  secured  only  on  the  Con- 
tinent. 

"  Of  course,"  he  had  said,  "  I  know  it 
is  asking  a  great  deal,  for  Philip  has 
grown  very  dear  to  you  both;  but  to 
me,  bereft  as  I  have  been  of  every  one 
I  once  loved,  this  dear  child  has  become 
almost  indispensable.  For  the  first 
time  since  my  poor  wife  died  I  begin  to 
feel  that  the  future  holds  something  in  it 


Lord  Ashden's  Plan  181 

for  which  to  strive,  and  to  which  I  can 
look  forward  without  despair.  Only 
give  me  Philip,  dear  friends,  and  I 
promise  it  shall  be  for  the  boy's  best 
good ;  for  I  love  him  already  as  my  own 
son,  as  I  loved  his  father  in  the  old 
days." 

"  We  would  be  selfish  indeed,"  said 
Aunt  Delia,  with  streaming  eyes,  "  were 
we  to  refuse  such  a  generous  offer,  but 
Philip  himself  must  decide;  although  of 
course  I  know  what  his  answer  will  be." 

The  good  rector  too,  although  he 
could  not  trust  himself  to  think  of  how 
silent  and  lonely  the  old  house  would 
be  without  his  little  nephew,  was  yet 
rejoiced  that  the  boy  should  have  such 
a  rare  opportunity  of  cultivating  his 
musical  ability. 

"  I  have  always  said  that  his  playing 
was  wonderful,"  he  exclaimed  proudly; 
"  and  I  believe  our  boy  will  some  day 
make  a  name  for  himself  and  for  us  all." 


1 82  Philip 

When  the  purport  of  this  interview 
was  explained  to  Philip  he  seemed 
dazed  by  the  prospect  of  such  un- 
looked-for good  fortune,  and  for  a 
moment  he  said  nothing,  standing  quite 
still  with  clasped  hands,  and  his  expres- 
sive face  quivering  with  delight;  but 
suddenly  he  discovered  Aunt  Delia 
furtively  wiping  her  spectacles,  and  the 
self-reproachful  tears  sprang  at  once  to 
his  eyes. 

"Oh,  Aunt  Delia!  Uncle  Seldon! 
forgive  me!"  he  cried.  "How  could  I 
be  so  selfish  as  to  think  of  leaving  my 
dearest  and  best  friends?  Nothing  I 
can  do  could  ever  repay  you  for  your 
kindness,  and  certainly  I  will  never, 
never  leave  you." 

"  My  darling  boy!  "  said  Aunt  Delia, 
drawing  him  down  beside  her  on  the 
sofa,  while  the  good  old  clergyman 
blew  his  nose  very  hard  and  looked 
out  of  the  window,  "  such  sentiments 


Lord  Ashden's  Plan  183 

do  you  credit,  and  are  worthy  of  our 
dear,  dead  Philip's  son;  but  your  uncle 
and  I  could  not  think  of  accepting  such 
a  sacrifice.  One  disappointed  career  in 
a  family  is  quite  enough,  dear  boy,  and 
if  your  father  had  to  give  up  his  art, 
you  at  least  shall  have  as  good  a  chance 
with  your  music  as  we  can  give  you." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  added  the  rector  hastily, 
"  don't  think  of  us,  Philip  lad;  we  shall 
get  on  fairly  well,  I  fancy;  and  then, 
you  know,  in  after  years  your  aunt  and 
I  will  share  in  your  triumphs.  How 
proud  we  shall  be  of  our  nephew,  the 
great  violinist,  Signer  Philip  Norton! 
Sounds  well,  doesn't  it?  There  won't 
be  a  prouder  woman  in  England  than 
your  Aunt  Delia  then,  and  as  for  your 
old  uncle,  the  rectory  will  be  hardly 
large  enough  to  contain  him,  if  he  is 
still  alive." 

And  so,  almost  in  spite  of  his  hesita- 
tion, Philip  found  himself  gently  pushed 


184  Philip 

forward  into  a  career  which  seemed  to 
be  too  beautiful  to  be  real;  indeed,  he 
half  expected  to  awake  some  morning 
and  find  that  the  whole  plan  had  been 
only  a  lovely  dream. 

But  the  preparations  for  his  journey 
went  steadily  on,  and  each  morning 
Philip  would  look  at  the  calendar  and 
say: 

"  In  a  month  we  start" — "  in  a  week" 
—  and  then  —  "  to-morrow." 

He  did  not  go  to  Ashden  very  much 
during  those  last  days,  for  he  wanted 
to  spend  every  moment  with  the  dear 
friends  at  the  rectory;  nor  did  he  see 
much  of  Lord  Ashden,  who  had 
many  preparations  to  make  for  what 
might  be  a  long  absence,  and  who, 
moreover,  with  great  delicacy,  forbore 
to  intrude  upon  these  last  days,  which 
he  knew  were  sad  ones  for  the  dear  old 
clergyman  and  his  wife. 

The  bustle  and  stir  incident  upon  the 


Lord  Ashden's  Plan  185 

preparation  for  such  a  long  journey 
were  an  immense  relief  to  Aunt  Delia, 
and  she  gave  herself  not  a  moment  to 
think  of  what  the  house  would  be  like 
when  her  darling  boy  should  have 
gone.  She  had  Philip's  boxes  all 
packed  and  strapped  a  full  week  before 
he  was  to  start,  and  then  she  thought 
of  so  many  things  which  she  had  for- 
gotten to  put  in  that  she  unpacked 
them  all  again;  and  she  repeated  this 
operation  several  times  before  she  was 
quite  satisfied.  For  some  unaccount- 
able reason,  as  the  travellers  were 
going  directly  south,  the  dear  old  lady 
was  convinced  that  Philip  would  need 
the  most  extraordinary  amount  of  extra 
clothing,  and  she  smuggled  into  his 
boxes  enough  flannel  and  woollen  gar- 
ments to  have  equipped  an  expedition 
to  the  polar  regions.  She  was  also 
convinced  that  both  Philip  and  Lord 
Ashden  would  need  at  least  a  couple 


1 86  Philip 

of  knitted  mufflers  apiece,  and  after  a 
busy  day  spent  in  running  up  and  down 
stairs  and  packing  and  unpacking 
boxes,  she  would  sit  up  half  the  night 
knitting  away,  as  though  her  life  de- 
pended upon  it,  on  these  same  mufflers, 
while  her  loving  thoughts  and  hopes 
for  Philip's  future  travelled  faster  even 
than  the  flying  needles. 

But  there  was  another  member  of 
the  household  who  was  even  more  ex- 
cited over  the  preparations  for  depart- 
ure than  Aunt  Delia  herself.  This  was 
Dash,  who  from  the  first  moment  that 
the  journey  was  suggested  seemed  to  un- 
derstand that  some  momentous  change 
was  near  at  hand.  When  Philip's  boxes 
were  brought  down  from  the  garret,  he 
went  sniffing  anxiously  about  them,  and 
when  Aunt  Delia  laid  one  of  the  boy's 
familiar  garments  in  one  of  them,  the 
little  dog  sat  down  beside  it,  and  throw- 
ing back  his  head  began  to  howl  so 


Lord  Ashden's  Plan  187 

piteously  that  Philip,  who  was  practis- 
ing in  the  next  room,  came  running  in 
to  see  if  he  were  ill  or  in  pain.  After 
that  Dash  seemed  fully  to  comprehend 
that  his  master  was  going  on  a  journey, 
and  from  having  always  followed  him 
about  very  faithfully  he  became  his 
veritable  shadow.  If  Philip  but  crossed 
the  room  Dash  was  at  his  heels,  and  at 
night  he  deliberately  forsook  the  box 
in  a  corner  of  the  school-room,  in  which 
he  had  formerly  slept  very  contentedly, 
and  would  curl  himself  up  on  the  foot 
of  Philip's  bed,  from  which  neither 
threats  nor  entreaties  could  drive  him 
away.  Philip,  indeed,  begged  that  he 
might  be  allowed  to  remain,  for  it  had 
been  decided  that  Dash  must  be  left  at 
Lowdown,  and  his  little  master's  heart 
felt  strangely  sad  and  heavy  at  the 
thought  of  parting  from  his  faithful 
friend. 

One  night  Aunt  Delia,  coming  softly 


1 88  Philip 

into  his  room  with  a  light,  to  be  sure 
that  her  boy  was  warmly  covered,  was 
surprised  to  hear  a  sound  of  suppressed 
sobbing  issuing  from  beneath  the  bed- 
clothes. 

"  Why,  Philip,"  she  said,  coming 
nearer,  "  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Delia,  I  do  feel  so  sad  at 
the  thought  of  leaving  Dash,  and  he 
seems  to  understand;  I  believe  he 
really  thinks  that  I  am  very  mean  and 
heartless  to  go  away  and  leave  him 
behind." 

Dash  himself,  who  was  lying  quietly 
in  Philip's  arms,  now  and  then  licking 
the  boy's  hand,  looked  up  so  reproach- 
fully at  Aunt  Delia  as  she  leaned  over 
the  bed  that  her  kind  heart  was  really 
touched. 

"  Good  doggie,"  she  said  kindly,  pat- 
ting his  shaggy  head,  "  don't  you  sup- 
pose /  mind  being  left  behind  too? 
And  don't  you  think  that  I  shall  miss 


Lord  Ashden's  Plan  189 

our  Philip  when  he  is  gone?  You  and 
I  must  learn  to  be  good  friends,  and 
then  we  can  comfort  each  other,  you 
know." 

And  Dash,  who  really  seemed  to  un- 
derstand everything  that  was  said  to 
him,  showed  his  appreciation  of  Mrs. 
Seldon's  sympathy  by  leaving  Philip 
to  come  and  poke  his  little  black  nose 
affectionately  into  her  face,  and  when 
she  gave  a  little  scream  of  surprise  and 
began  to  wipe  her  cheek  where  the 
wet  nose  had  touched  it,  Philip  was  so 
much  amused  that  he  laughed  merrily; 
and  when  Aunt  Delia  came  into  the 
room  again  half  an  hour  later,  he  was 
sound  asleep,  with  Dash  curled  up  in  a 
little  yellow  ball  beside  him. 


Chapter   XIV 
Off  for  Italy 

AND  then  at  last  the  day  came  when 
Philip  was  to  start  on  his  travels, 
and  everybody  was  trying  so  hard  to 
bear  up  and  be  cheerful  that  there 
was  quite  an  air  of  false  gayety  about 
the  household.  Only  one  member  of 
the  family  seemed  to  be  indifferent 
about  Philip's  departure,  and  this  was 
his  cousin  Marion,  who  had  returned 
the  week  before  from  her  visit  to  Scot- 
land, where  she  had  been  flattered  and 
made  so  much  of  for  her  beauty  and 
accomplishments  that  her  silly  head 
was  quite  turned.  She  was  deeply 
chagrined  on  her  return  to  find  that 

Philip,  instead  of  herself,  was  the  cen- 
190 


Off  for  Italy  191 

tral  figure  in  the  family  circle.  She 
had  the  greatest  admiration  for  Lord 
Ashden,  and  felt  a  respect  for  his  rank 
and  title  which  amounted  almost  to 
veneration.  She  was  secretly  quite 
enraged  that  he  should  have  selected 
this  boy,  whose  parentage  on  one  side 
was,  to  say  the  least,  decidedly  obscure, 
and  should  have  paid  him  so  much 
attention. 

"  I  wonder  what  Lord  Ashden  can 
be  thinking  of,"  she  said,  with  flashing 
eyes,  to  her  younger  sisters,  who  were 
disposed,  on  her  first  return  home,  to 
regard  her  with  a  kind  of  admiring  awe. 
"  I  suppose  Philip  asked  Lord  Ashden  to 
take  him  abroad  with  him,  and  of  course 
he  is  far  too  good-natured  to  refuse." 

"Oh,  no,  indeed,"  the  truthful  Rose 
was  obliged  to  reply.  "  He  did  not, 
indeed,  Marion;  for  when  Aunt  Delia 
told  him  of  Lord  Ashden's  invitation, 
he  was  as  much  surprised  as  we  were." 


192  Philip 

"  Fiddlesticks!  "  said  Marion,  tossing 
her  head;  "you  all  seem  to  think  that 
Philip  is  as  innocent  as  a  lamb.  He 
may  be  as  stupid  as  one,  that  I  will 
grant  you,"  and  Marion  laughed  un- 
pleasantly at  her  own  witticism.  Rose 
echoed  the  laugh,  although  rather  faintly, 
and  she  was  glad  that  Lillie  had  been 
called  from  the  room,  and  so  had  not 
heard  Marion's  ill-natured  remark. 

As  for  Philip,  his  thoughts  were  too 
full  of  other  things  to  notice  his  cousin 
Marion's  behavior  very  much.  He  had 
always  been  a  sincere  admirer  of  her 
beauty  and  cleverness,  but  the  first 
evening  of  her  return  he  decided  that, 
after  all,  Lillie  was  far  the  sweeter  and 
more  lovable  of  the  two  girls ;  and  even 
Rose,  he  thought,  who  was  rather  plain 
and  freckled,  had  a  much  more  amiable 
expression  than  her  handsome  elder 
sister. 

When  the  time  came  to  say  good- 


Off  for  Italy  193 

by,  and  Philip  was  going  about  with 
rather  a  sad  smile,  shaking  hands  and 
embracing  the  dear  friends  who  had 
made  his  stay  at  the  rectory  such  a 
happy  one,  he  noticed  that  Marion 
seemed  to  hold  back,  and  he  tried  not 
to  care,  although  he  flushed  painfully 
as  he  went  toward  her,  holding  out  his 
hand. 

"  Good-by,  Marion,"  he  said; "  I  am  so 
sorry  that  I  am  leaving  just  as  you  have 
come  back  to  Lowdown." 

She  made  no  reply,  and  held  out  a 
limp,  reluctant  hand.  "  Good-by,"  she 
said  coldly  at  last,  as  he  waited  hesitat- 
ingly for  a  word. 

Philip  gave  her  a  swift  glance,  and 
then,  overcoming  his  shyness,  he  said 
impulsively: 

"  Oh,  Marion,  is  that  all  you  can  say 
—  not  —  not  just  one  word  to  wish  me 
success  with  my  music  ?  " 

His  voice  trembled  a  little,  and  his 


194  Philip 

cousin  could  not  resist  the  pleading  in 
his  eyes.  She  dropped  her  own,  saying 
rather  more  graciously: 

"  Yes,  oh,  yes,  of  course  I  wish  you 
good  luck.  I  am  very  glad  that  you 
are  to  have  such  a  fine  chance  to  see 
something  of  the  world,  and  I  hope  — 
that  is  —  I  am  sure  that  you  will  try  to 
be  a  credit  to  the  family." 

Just  then  the  carriage  from  Ashden 
arrived,  bringing  Lord  Ashden,  who 
had  been  detained  at  the  last  moment, 
so  that  there  was  just  time  for  Philip 
to  jump  in  beside  him,  and  the  horses 
started  off  on  a  run  to  the  railroad 
station. 

Philip  stood  up  on  the  seat  of  the 
carriage,  waving  his  cap;  he  kept  his 
eyes  fastened  upon  Aunt  Delia,  who 
was  keeping  her  promise  not  to  cry,  by 
laughing  hysterically  at  the  frantic  ef- 
forts of  poor  Dash  to  escape  from  her 
arms  and  follow  his  young  master.  And 


Off  for  Italy  195 

then  a  turn  in  the  road  hid  the  carriage 
and  the  little  swaying  figure  from  the 
sight  of  the  group  on  the  rectory  steps, 
and  Mr.  Seldon  put  his  arm  gently 
around  his  wife,  saying: 

"  How  I  wish  that  our  Philip  could 
see  his  boy  to-day!  Do  you  notice  how 
like  his  father  the  dear  boy  grows  ?  " 

As  for  Philip,  he  was  very  grave  and 
silent  during  the  journey  to  London, 
but  the  first  glimpse  of  the  great  city 
aroused  all  his  enthusiasm,  and  he 
chattered  and  laughed  and  asked  ques- 
tions as  they  were  being  driven  to  the 
hotel,  while  Lord  Ashden  leaned  back 
in  the  cab,  pleased  and  diverted  by 
the  boy's  exclamations  of  interest  and 
pleasure.  As  for  Philip  himself,  it  was 
pleasure  enough  to  be  travelling  alone 
with  a  man  like  Lord  Ashden,  for 
whom,  from  the  first  moment  of  meet- 
ing him  on  that  memorable  day  in  the 
woods,  he  had  cherished  a  sort  of  rapt- 


196  Philip 

urous  admiration,  which  was  something 
very  different  from  his  cousin  Marion's 
silly  veneration  for  rank.  Indeed,  he 
was  still  far  too  innocent  of  the  world's 
ways  to  be  conscious  of  the  value  placed 
on  high  position;  and  Lord  Ashden, 
sick  of  the  insincerity  and  shallowness 
of  the  people  whom  he  met  in  society, 
found  a  large  measure  of  the  happiness 
which  he  had  thought  to  have  lost  for- 
ever, in  the  society  of  this  true-hearted 
boy. 

They  spent  only  one  night  in  London, 
starting  the  next  day  for  the  Continent. 
It  had  been  their  intention  to  go  on  at 
once  to  Italy,  but  Lord  Ashden  was 
detained  in  Paris  by  important  business 
for  more  than  a  month,  and  this  was  a 
period  of  constant  wonder  and  delight 
to  Philip. 

Marwin,  Lord  Ashden's  confidential 
servant,  was  an  experienced  traveller, 
and  in  his  care  Philip  visited  the  places 


Off  for  Italy  197 

that  he  and  Miss  Acton  had  tried  to  see 
in  imagination  in  the  long,  quiet  even- 
ings at  Lowdown,  when  Aunt  Delia 
had  talked  to  them  of  her  own  exten- 
sive travels  throughout  Europe.  Philip 
recognized  several  of  the  places  which 
he  now  visited,  from  Mrs.  Seldon's 
graphic  description  of  them.  Marvin 
was  an  intelligent  guide,  and  his  run- 
ning commentary  upon  what  they  saw 
was  listened  to  by  his  young  charge 
with  flattering  attention.  Lord  Ashden 
was  not  able  to  go  about  very  much, 
and  the  sights  of  Paris  were  not  novel- 
ties to  him;  but  every  evening  he  drew 
from  Philip  a  description  of  his  day's 
adventure. 

"  Is  this  the  very  best  day  of  all  ?  " 
he  would  say,  as  the  boy's  bright,  ex- 
pressive face  appeared  at  his  door. 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,  the  very,  very  best  of 
all,"  would  be  the  answer  he  was  al- 
ways sure  of  receiving.  The  certainty 


198  Philip 

of  finding  ready  sympathy  made  the  boy 
willing  to  speak  freely  of  his  thoughts 
and  emotions,  and  Lord  Ashden,  who 
had  the  gift  of  drawing  people  out, 
sometimes  led  him  on,  after  hearing  an 
account  of  the  places  he  had  seen,  to 
talk  of  thoughts,  hopes,  and  desires  that 
he  had  never  spoken  of  to  any  one. 

It  was  on  a  morning  after  one  of  these 
conversations  that  Lord  Ashden  an- 
nounced his  intention  of  taking  Philip 
himself  to  see  some  pictures.  They 
were  not  in  a  public  gallery,  but  were 
the  choice  private  collection  of  a  dis- 
tinguished patron  of  art,  who  occasion- 
ally threw  open  his  gallery  to  an  ap- 
preciative public.  There  was  no  one 
present  but  themselves  when  they  first 
entered  the  room  and  walked  about, 
examining  the  pictures  at  leisure. 
There  was  a  curious  mingling  of  an- 
cient and  modern  art,  but  to  Philip's 
undistinguishing  eye,  all  of  them  were 


Off  for  Italy  199 

beautiful,  and  he  listened  entranced 
while  his  friend  explained  the  subject  of 
one  and  another  of  his  own  favorites. 

"Oh,  my  dear  boy!"  he  exclaimed 
suddenly,  after  giving  a  most  entertain- 
ing account  of  the  "  Barmecides'  Feast," 
which  hung  before  them,  "  how  vividly 
all  this  talk  about  pictures  reminds  me 
of  your  father!  " 

He  knew  quite  well  that  this  was  a 
subject  of  which  his  companion  never 
grew  weary,  and  it  was  the  subject,  too, 
which  always  drew  this  strangely  as- 
sorted pair  more  closely  together.  They 
sat  down  on  a  bench  in  a  quiet  corner, 
and  many  a  visitor  to  the  gallery  that 
morning  lingered  to  admire  the  tall, 
distinguished-looking  Englishman  who 
was  talking  with  such  earnestness  to 
the  beautiful,  fair-haired  boy,  who  with 
eager,  upturned  face  looked  almost  like 
one  of  the  young  angels  in  a  celebrated 
picture  which  hung  just  above  his  head. 


200  Philip 

This  was  but  one  of  many  happy 
days  of  intimate  companionship  and 
sight-seeing,  and  Philip,  even  with  Italy 
in  prospect,  turned  his  back  upon  the 
gay  French  capital  with  a  long  sigh  of 
regret.  When  they  reached  Rome 
they  found  that  the  famous  teacher 
whose  advice  Lord  Ashden  had  come 
so  far  to  seek  for  Philip  had  left,  a  few 
months  before,  to  take  charge  of  a  large 
conservatory  at  Milan.  They  decided 
not  to  follow  him  at  once,  however,  for 
Lord  Ashden  was  anxious  that  Philip 
should  see  something  of  the  Eternal 
City  before  settling  down  to  work  and 
study.  He  himself  was  guide  this 
time,  and  he  took  the  boy  to  palaces 
and  picture  galleries,  to  cathedrals  and 
studios  and  concerts,  until  Philip  was 
scarcely  able  to  sleep  at  night,  for 
thinking  of  the  wonder  and  the  beauty 
of  it  all;  and  then  his  wise  and  kind 
guide  planned  that  they  should  spend 


Off  for  Italy  201 

a  day  or  two  at  Naples,  which  they 
passed  drifting  about  on  the  beautiful 
bay,  and  so  when  Philip  was  quite 
rested  again,  they  travelled  on  by  easy 
stages  to  Milan. 

Signer  Marini  was  such  an  exceed- 
ingly busy  man  that  it  was  several 
days  before  he  could  make  time  to 
have  Philip  brought  to  the  conserva- 
tory. The  great  teacher  was  very  fond 
of  Lord  Ashden,  and  would  have  gone 
out  of  his  way  to  have  done  him  a 
favor,  but  he  was  rather  sceptical 
about  Philip's  playing;  he  had  had  sev- 
eral rather  unfortunate  experiences  with 
child  musicians,  and  was  sceptical  about 
infant  prodigies  in  general.  Moreover, 
he  assured  his  friend  that  if  the  Angel 
Gabriel  should  have  come  down  from 
heaven  to  take  lessons  from  him  just  at 
this  time,  he  could  not  have  complied 
with  his  request. 

"  You   understand,"    he    said    in   his 


202  Philip 

quick,  Italian  way,  "  I  can  no  longer 
teach  any  one  —  not  the  greatest  violin- 
ist living.  I  am  too  busy  and  too  old  — 
and  my  conservatory,  the  management 
of  it,  the  routine,  it  is  enough  ;  but  you 
may  bring  your  boy,  ah,  yes,  I  will  find 
for  him  the  best  teacher  in  Milan." 

"  Ah,  signor,"  said  Lord  Ashden, 
disappointed,  "  I  had  hoped  that  you 
would  take  the  boy  yourself." 

"  Quite  impossible !  "  said  the  teacher, 
shaking  his  head,  "  but,  as  I  said,  bring 
the  boy,  and  we  will  see." 

Fortunately,  Philip  did  not  realize 
the  importance  of  the  ordeal  through 
which  he  was  to  pass,  when  one  morn- 
ing at  breakfast  Lord  Ashden  said 
quietly : 

"  I  want  you  to  bring  your  violin, 
and  come  with  me  this  morning  to 
play  for  an  old  friend  of  mine,  who 
may  be  able  to  give  you  some  valuable 
advice  about  your  music." 


Off  for  Italy  203 

After  breakfast,  accordingly,  they 
drove  for  several  miles  through  the 
older  portion  of  the  city,  and  at  last 
the  carriage  drew  up  before  a  dingy 
door  in  what  had  been  an  ancient  palace. 
They  were  ushered  without  delay  to 
the  private  office  of  the  maestro,  a 
little,  wiry,  keen-eyed  old  man,  in  a 
greasy  smoking-jacket,  and  smelling 
strongly  of  tobacco.  He  looked  at 
Philip  sharply  from  under  his  shaggy 
eyebrows,  remarking  with  a  kind  of 
grunt,  in  Italian  : 

"  Handsome,  like  his  father,"  for 
Signer  Marini  remembered  the  young 
English  artist  who  had  been  travelling 
with  Lord  Ashden  during  his  last 
visit  to  Italy,  and  who  had  dabbled  a 
little  in  music,  as  he  said  himself, 
"  while  he  waited  for  the  first  coat  of 
paint  to  dry  on  his  canvases." 

In  fact,  the  old  man  was  so  full  of 
reminiscences  that  Lord  Ashden  was 


204  Philip 

obliged  at  last  to  remind  him  of  the 
real  object  of  the  visit. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  grunted  the  music  teacher 
rather  ungraciously.  "The  boy  may 
play." 

Philip,  who  had  been  examining 
some  rare  and  beautiful  musical  in- 
struments which  were  in  the  room, 
opened  his  violin  case  at  once  and 
stood,  bow  in  hand,  looking  inquiringly 
from  Lord  Ashden  to  Signer  Marini, 
with  a  simple  desire  to  know  their 
pleasure  and  an  utter  absence  of  em- 
barrassment or  nervousness  which 
rather  surprised  the  Italian. 

"What  shall  I  play,  sir?"  asked  the 
boy,  and  the  teacher  named  a  rather 
difficult  btude  which,  fortunately  for 
Philip,  he  had  been  practising  within 
the  week. 

The  maestro  pretended  at  first  not  to 
be  listening  very  attentively;  indeed,  he 
yawned  once  or  twice  and  walked  to 


Off  for  Italy  205 

the  window,  where  he  stood  drumming 
noiselessly  upon  the  pane  with  his  dirty 
fingers;  but,  after  a  little,  he  began  to 
listen  more  attentively,  and  when  the 
first  few  wailing  notes  of  the  violin  had 
melted  into  the  very  passionate  intensity 
of  the  second  measure  of  the  composi- 
tion, he  wheeled  suddenly  around,  sat 
down  with  his  arms  folded  on  the  back 
of  a  chair,  and  listened  with  unbroken 
attention  to  the  end. 

When  Philip  had  finished  playing  he 
laid  his  violin  down  carefully  on  the 
table  and  turned  toward  Lord  Ashden 
with  an  inquiring  smile  as  though  he 
would  have  said: 

"  Was  it  all  right,  my  friend  ?  " 

Lord  Ashden  did  not  reply,  but  he 
looked  at  Signor  Marini  with  an  amused 
smile.  The  whole  expression  of  the 
latter's  face  had  changed,  and  presently 
he  said  to  Philip: 

"  Come  here,  my  boy." 


206  Philip 

Philip  went  over  to  him  at  once,  with 
a  pretty,  respectful  inclination  of  the 
head,  which  seemed  to  please  the  old 
man.  He  asked  him  a  few  short,  rapid 
questions  about  his  practising,  his  in- 
strument, and  his  plans  for  the  future. 

"  You  have  formed  some  rather  bad 
habits  in  your  playing,"  he  said.  "  They 
can  only  be  corrected  by  very  hard 
work."  He  paused  a  moment  with  his 
glittering  eyes  fixed  upon  the  boy's  up- 
turned face.  "Tell  me,  are  you  will- 
ing to  work  hard,  very  hard  ?  to  prac- 
tise all  day,  and,  if  necessary,  all  night, 
too  ?  Are  you  willing  to  give  up  every- 
thing —  pay  attention  now  to  what  I 
am  saying  —  to  give  up  everything  for 
your  art?"  And,  as  Philip  nodded 
gravely,  fixing  his  earnest  eyes  full 
upon  the  old  man's  face,  the  latter  got 
up  from  his  chair,  which  he  pushed 
away  from  him  with  so  much  violence 
that  it  fell  over  on  the  floor. 


Off  for  Italy  207 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  " I  believe  you; 
when  can  you  begin — at  once?" 

Then,  turning  to  Lord  Ashden,  he 
held  out  his  hand.  The  latter  was 
smiling  in  spite  of  himself,  as  he  said, 
trying  to  speak  seriously: 

"  And  what  about  the  teacher  for  the 
boy,  of  whom  you  spoke  ?  " 

The  old  music  teacher  smiled  a  little 
grimly. 

"  My  friend,"  he  said,  "  I  will  take 
the  boy  myself,  provided  you  will  con- 
sent to  his  living  in  my  house,  so  that 
he  may  give  me  all  his  time  for  the 
practice  he  so  much  needs.  No,  no 
thanks.  Think  it  over,  and  when  you 
have  decided  send  the  boy  to  me." 

And  so  it  was  arranged  that  Philip 
was  to  be  left  behind  in  Milan  for  a 
year  while  Lord  Ashden  went  to  Egypt 
with  some  friends,  but  not  before  he 
had  assured  himself  that  the  boy  would 
be  quite  happy  in  the  household  of 


2o8  Philip 

Signer  Marini,  who,  in  spite  of  his 
peculiarities,  had  a  very  kind  and  gen- 
erous nature,  while  his  fat  and  rather 
stupid  wife  was  overflowing  with  good- 
nature. They  promised  to  do  all  in 
their  power  to  make  Philip  as  happy 
and  comfortable  as  he  could  be  under 
such  altered  conditions,  and  they  kept 
their  word;  it  must  be  confessed,  how- 
ever, that  the  boy  suffered  a  great  deal 
for  the  first  month  or  two  from  that 
most  unbearable  of  all  complaints, 
homesickness;  but  after  that  he  did  not 
have  much  time  to  think  of  his  friends 
in  England,  or  indeed  of  anything  else, 
for  he  soon  became  completely  ab- 
sorbed in  conquering  the  difficulties  of 
exercises  and  studies. 

Signer  Marini  was  a  stern  taskmas- 
ter, and  it  was  a  peculiarity  of  his  that 
he  seldom  praised  or  encouraged  his 
pupils;  sometimes,  however,  when 
Philip  had  conquered  a  difficult  pas- 


Off  for  Italy  209 

sage,  his  teacher  would  give  expression 
to  his  satisfaction  in  a  kind  of  grunt 
which  Philip  soon  grew  to  look  for  and 
to  value  as  the  highest  kind  of  praise. 
Nor  did  his  teacher  make  much  reply 
to  Lord  Ashden's  frequent  letters  of 
inquiry  concerning  his  pupil's  progress. 

"  You  know  I  told  you  that  I  did  not 
believe  much  in  precocious  children," 
he  wrote  once,  "  but  Philip  I  believe  is 
something  more  than  that.  If  I  did 
not  believe  that  he  had  a  future  before 
him,  I  should  certainly  not  be  spend- 
ing so  much  time  upon  his  training." 

And  with  this  assurance  Lord  Ash- 
den  was  obliged  to  be  content,  and 
although  the  year  of  separation  from 
Philip  was  harder  for  him  than  for 
the  boy,  he  waited  patiently,  believing 
the  life  in  Milan  to  be  just  what  his 
young  charge  needed. 


Chapter   XV 
Drifting 

THE  days  had  passed  swiftly  by, 
and  Philip  had  been  for  more  than 
three  years  in  the  household  of  Signer 
Marini  at  Milan.  To  be  sure  he  had 
been  carried  off  by  Lord  Ashden  for  a 
month  or  two  at  the  end  of  the  first 
year's  work,  and  a  glorious  holiday  it 
had  been.  The  two  travelled  together 
through  Switzerland,  and  Philip  sur- 
prised his  companion  by  his  powers  of 
endurance  and  his  ability  to  undertake 
the  most  difficult  and  often  dangerous 
feats  of  mountain-climbing  without 
nervousness  or  fatigue.  The  joy  of 
being  united  was  equally  great  on  both 
sides,  and  despite  the  great  difference 


210 


Drifting  211 

in  their  ages,  Lord  Ashden  found  in 
Philip  the  most  congenial  of  compan- 
ions, while  the  boy  looked  up  to  his 
friend  with  a  glowing  admiration  and 
affection  which  day  by  day  increased 
and  strengthened. 

It  was  a  painful  moment  for  both 
when,  the  vacation  over,  Philip  re- 
turned to  Milan  for  another  twelve 
months  of  work  and  study,  while  Lord 
Ashden  made  a  visit  to  England, 
promising  to  return  for  Philip's  debut 
the  following  autumn,  for  Signer  Ma- 
rini  had  pushed  his  private  scholar  with 
might  and  main,  and  his  enthusiastic 
hopes  for  Philip's  future  made  the  old 
man  quite  young  again. 

"  I  live  over  again  in  your  playing, 
my  boy,"  he  would  say,  and  he  himself 
made  all  the  arrangements  for  his 
pupil's  first  public  appearance  at  La 
Scala. 

Philip    himself   was    strangely    un- 


212  Philip 

moved  by  the  prospect  of  playing 
before  the  largest,  and  perhaps  the 
most  critical,  audience  in  all  Europe. 

"  I  can  but  do  my  best,"  he  said 
quietly  with  his  flashing  smile,  and  he 
was  far  more  excited  over  the  promise 
of  Lord  Ashden  to  come  to  Milan  for 
the  occasion  than  at  the  thought  of  the 
promised  presence  of  royalty  itself  in 
the  audience. 

The  night  came,  and  Signer  Marini 
was  not  disappointed  in  his  pupil.  The 
effect  upon  the  audience  of  his  uncom- 
mon beauty  and  youthfulness,  and  his 
wonderful  playing,  were  instantaneous 
and  lasting,  and  round  upon  round  of 
applause  greeted  each  appearance  and 
exit. 

Lord  Ashden  stood  at  the  wings,  pale 
with  excitement,  and  when  Philip  came 
quietly  towards  him,  saying  simply: 
"They  seem  to  like  my  playing,  do 
they  not?"  he  folded  the  boy  in  his 


Drifting  213 

arms,  saying  in  a  voice  trembling  with 
emotion : 

"  My  darling  boy,  this  is  the  proud- 
est and  happiest  moment  of  my  life! 
And  now  that  the  world  recog- 
nizes your  talent,  and  you  have  won 
your  place  in  the  topmost  ranks,  my 
dear  boy,  we  must  give  you  a  long 
vacation,"  he  said  later,  when,  the  per- 
formance being  over,  they  were  taking 
supper  in  his  lordship's  room  at  the 
hotel. 

Lord  Ashden  then  unfolded  a  plan 
of  taking  Philip  with  him  on  an  ex- 
tended tour  through  Europe  and  the 
East. 

The  boy  was  overcome  with  grati- 
tude, but  quietly  firm  in  his  refusal  to 
accept  the  tempting  invitation. 

"  But  please,"  he  said,  forcing  him- 
self to  speak  calmly,  "please  do  not 
think  me  ungrateful  for  your  kindness. 
You  came  to  me  like  an  angel,  and  sup- 


214  Philip 

ported  me  all  these  long  years,  and 
gave  me  the  opportunity  to  acquire  my 
beloved  art.  You  have  given  me  the 
power  to  live  by  my  own  efforts,  to  be 
happy  in  the  only  way  that  happiness 
is  possible  to  me.  Even  if  I  could  do 
it,  you  would  not  accept  the  repayment 
of  the  money  I  have  cost  you;  but  if 
you  took  it,  the  debt  would  be  in  no 
way  cancelled,  for  a  thousand  times  the 
sum  would  be  far  from  paying  for  the 
kindness  that  trusted  and  befriended 
me,  and  made  me  what  I  am. 

"  Oh !  Lord  Ashden,"  he  went  on, 
quite  breaking  through  his  usual  shy 
reserve,  "I  can  never  kneel  to  pray 
without  returning  thanks  for  such  a 
friend  as  you;  and  I  can  never  touch 
my  beloved  violin  without  thinking  of 
you,  and  hoping  that  some  day  it  may 
be  my  turn  to  do  some  little  thing  for 
you.  Now,  before  the  impression  I 
have  had  the  good  fortune  to  make  has 


Drifting  215 

faded  away,  I  must  work  for  a  place  in 
the  world.  Maestro  Marini  says  teach- 
ing is  the  surest  support,  but  to-night 
makes  me  hope  that  I  may  continue 
upon  the  stage;  and,  if  you  approve,  I 
shall  try  for  an  engagement.  But  I 
must  go  to  England  first  —  I  owe  it  to 
dear  Aunt  Delia.  I  suppose  there  is 
no  one  else  there  who  will  care  much, 
but  she  writes  to  me  so  tenderly,  and 
every  letter  says:  '  Dear  boy,  come 
home.' " 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  please,"  said  Lord 
Ashden,  "  and  the  travelling  shall  be 
postponed  till  you  are  ready.  But 
don't  feel  burdened  with  gratitude  to 
me — your  success  quite  repays  me.  I 
am  sorry  to  start  off  on  my  travels 
without  you,  but  I  expect  to  hear  great 
things  of  you  when  I  come  back.  Un- 
less I  am  mistaken,  the  newspapers 
will  tell  me  something  of  your  career 
while  I  am  away.  You  are  not  des- 


2i6  Philip 

tined  to  obscurity,  my  boy;  such  talent 
as  yours  will  make  you  famous,  and  I 
dare  to  tell  you  so  because  I  know  that 
nothing  will  make  you  conceited;  if 
anything,  you  are  too  humble." 

Praise  from  such  a  source  was  very 
precious  to  Philip,  and  often  afterward 
he  repeated  the  words  again  to  himself 
as  an  encouragement  to  the  hope  he 
hardly  dared  to  cherish,  that  some  day 
his  father's  family  might  be  just  a 
little,  a  very  little,  proud  of  him,  and 
that  even  Marion  might  perhaps  be 
no  longer  ashamed  to  own  him  for  a 
relative. 

Philip's  engagement  at  La  Scala 
lasted  for  a  week,  and  each  night  he 
repeated  his  triumphs;  the  city  rang 
with  the  fame  of  the  boy  violinist,  and 
he  was  petted  and  flattered  and  feted  to 
a  degree  which  might  have  completely 
turned  the  head  of  an  ordinary  boy  of 
thirteen,  but  Philip  remained  quite  un- 


Drifting  217 

spoiled,  and  was  secretly  glad  when  the 
week  neared  its  close. 

It  had  been  arranged  that  he  should 
return  at  once  to  England  with  Lord 
Ashden,  for  he  longed  to  see  the  dear 
friends  at  Lowdown  whom  he  had  never 
once  forgotten  in  his  long  separation 
from  them.  Nevertheless,  when  at  last 
the  day  arrived  upon  which  they  were 
to  leave  Milan,  Philip  was  sad  at  the 
thought  of  parting  from  good  Signor 
Marini  and  his  fellow-pupils  at  the 
Conservatory.  The  famous  teacher 
had  greatly  prided  himself  upon  being 
always  able  to  conceal  his  emotions; 
he  was  indeed  inclined  to  look  with 
disdain  upon  any  display  of  feeling, 
and  to  consider  it  quite  out  of  place 
for  one  in  his  position;  yet  when  the 
moment  came  for  him  to  bid  farewell 
to  his  little  pupil,  his  feelings  quite 
overcame  him  and  he  burst  into  tears. 

"  My   dear  boy,"   he  said,  straining 


218  Philip 

Philip  to  his  heart,  "  what  shall  I  do 
when  you  are  gone  ?  I  have  loved  you 
like  a  dear  son,  and  you  —  you  will 
soon  forget  your  poor  old  teacher,  who 
has  been  so  often  cross  and  severe." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  my  dear,  dear  master!" 
replied  the  boy,  his  own  eyes  swim- 
ming with  tears;  "you  have  been  al- 
ways the  wisest  of  teachers  and  the 
kindest  and  best  of  friends;  indeed, 
indeed,  I  will  never  forget  you  and  good 
Signora  Marini." 

"And  you  will  come  again  to  Mi- 
lan?" 

It  was  now  Lord  Ashden's  turn  to 
speak;  he  had  not  remained  unmoved 
during  this  touching  scene,  which  ex- 
hibited his  old  friend,  the  hard,  rather 
unfeeling  music  teacher  in  quite  a  new 
light. 

"  I  will  see  to  it,"  he  said  kindly, 
laying  one  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the 
old  man  and  the  other  on  Philip's  fair 


Drifting  219 

head,  "  that  two  such  fast  friends  meet 
again,  and  that  before  very  long.  The 
distance  between  Milan  and  London 
grows  shorter  every  year,  you  know, 
and  I  am  not  sure  but  I  shall  turn  up 
here  again  myself  before  long,  and 
perhaps  I  can  persuade  our  young 
friend  to  come  too." 

So  the  sadness  of  their  parting  was 
lessened  for  both  teacher  and  pupil, 
between  whom  there  existed  a  very 
true  and  real  friendship  and  affection, 
and  as  Philip  turned  away  from  the 
dingy  old  house  which  had  been  his 
home  for  three  years,  he  waved  his 
cap  to  the  sad  little  group  on  the  door- 
step, shouting,  "Addio,  addio,  my 
friends,  until  next  winter." 

When  they  reached  Paris  a  friend  of 
Lord  Ashden,  who  was  just  starting  on 
a  cruise  on  his  yacht,  begged  the  trav- 
ellers to  accompany  him. 

"  Our  little  violinist   is    looking  de- 


22O  Philip 

cidedly  thin  and  pale,"  he  said,  "  and 
it  will  never  do  to  send  him  back  to 
England  until  he  has  some  color  in  his 
cheeks.  His  friends  will  surely  think 
that  he  has  been  starved  and  ill-treated 
in  Italy;  come  off  with  me  for  a  fort- 
night and  I  promise  you  the  time  will 
not  be  wasted."  And  Lord  Ashden, 
when  he  came  to  look  more  critically, 
at  Philip  remarked  that  it  was  as  his 
friend  said. 

"You  are  right,"  he  said;  "the  dear 
boy  is  pale  and  thin.  What  an  idiot  I 
was  not  to  have  noticed  it  before!  I 
know  you  are  impatient  to  see  the  dear 
friends  in  England,  Philip,  but  just  this 
once  I  must  have  my  way." 

And  Philip,  although  he  was  at  first 
keenly  disappointed  to  delay  for  another 
two  weeks  the  joyous  home-coming  to 
which  he  had  looked  forward  for  so 
long,  was  yet  forced  to  admit  the  wis- 
dom of  Lord  Ashden's  decision.  In- 


Drifting  221 


deed,  he  had  not  realized  how  thoroughly 
tired  he  was  until  he  went  aboard  the 
yacht  and  his  exhausted  nerves  and 
muscles  could  thoroughly  relax. 

There  were  long  delicious  days  when 
the  yacht  drifted  lazily  through  the 
calm  blue  waters  of  the  Mediterranean, 
and  life  seemed  only  a  hazy  dream  of 
warm  sunshine  and  opalescent  sea  and 
sky.  Philip  would  lie  in  a  steamer- 
chair  under  a  green  sun-umbrella,  with 
half-closed  eyes,  and  sometimes  with 
an  unopened  book  in  his  lap,  thinking 
over  the  days  in  Milan,  or  picturing  the 
delight  of  once  again  sitting  in  the 
pleasant  drawing-room  at  Lowdown, 
with  the  rector,  dear  Aunt  Delia, 
Dr.  Norton  and  his  gentle  wife,  and 
the  little  girls.  Philip  smiled  as  he 
thought  of  how  many  questions  he 
should  have  to  ask  and  to  answer; 
he  wondered  if  he  should  find  them  all 
much  changed  in  the  years  since  he 


222  Philip 

had  seen  them.  Lillie  and  Rose  would 
be  much  taller,  he  supposed,  and 
Mario'n  quite  a  young  lady  —  Lord 
Ashden  had  told  him  that  she  was  pre- 
paring to  make  her  d&but  into  London 
society  the  following  winter;  and  Dash 
—  dear  old  fellow!  He  had  never 
been  quite  the  same,  Aunt  Delia  wrote, 
since  Philip's  departure,  and  he  had  not 
forgotten  him  —  oh,  no !  For  whenever 
Philip's  name  was  mentioned  he  would 
prick  up  his  ears  and  give  a  little  ex- 
cited bark.  Philip  loved  to  think  of 
how  Dash  would  come  running  down 
the  path  when  he  should  hear  his 
master's  familiar  whistle  at  the  gate. 
Oh,  it  was  glorious  to  have  learned 
really  to  play  the  violin,  and  to  feel 
that  he  could  without  shame  take  his 
place  among  the  great  musicians  whom 
only  three  years  ago  he  had  re- 
garded reverently  as  beings  of  another 
sphere;  but,  after  all,  the  boy  thought, 


Drifting  223 

there  was  no  joy  in  the  world  quite  so 
great  as  the  joy  of  going  home,  and  of 
being  united  once  again  with  the  dear 
friends  who  loved  him,  not  because  he 
was  talented  or  famous,  but  for  himself. 

Lord  Ashden  left  Philip  a  great  deal 
to  himself  during  these  long,  lazy  days 
on  the  yacht,  and  the  complete  rest  and 
freedom  from  exertion  and  excitement 
were  just  what  the  tired  boy  needed. 
At  the  end  of  the  first  week  a  faint 
color  began  to  appear  in  his  pale 
cheeks,  and  before  the  fortnight  had 
ended  he  was  romping  about  on  the 
deck,  his  old  happy,  light-hearted  self 
again. 

"Who  would  think,"  said  his  host  to 
Lord  Ashden  one  day,  as  they  sat  to- 
gether in  the  cabin,  the  sound  of  Phil- 
ip's merry  laughter  floating  down  to 
them  from  the  deck  above,  "who 
would  think  that  that  mischievous 
sprite  could  be  the  same  boy  as  the 


224  Philip 

pale,  spiritual-looking  child  violinist  of 
La  Scala?" 

"  I  confess  I  like  him  better  this 
way,"  said  Lord  Ashden.  "  The  Philip 
of  La  Scala  awed  and  frightened  me  a 
little.  I  was  afraid  he  would  not  live 
to  grow  up,  such  children  so  often  die 
young;  and  I  have  lost  so  many  of 
those  I  have  loved  that  it  would  be 
very  dreadful  to  think  what  life  would 
be  to  me  without  this  dear  child." 

"  Dear  old  Frederick ! "  said  his  friend, 
laying  his  hand  affectionately  on  his 
broad  shoulders.  "  It  is  not  strange 
that  you  love  the  boy,  and  I  hope  with 
all  my  heart  that  he  may  be  spared  to 
you  for  many,  many  happy  years  to 
come." 


Chapter  XVI 
Home  again 

"TAEAR   me!"  said  Philip,  with  a 

-L^     long-drawn  sigh,  as  the  anchor 

slipped  from  the  bow  of  the  yacht  in 

the  harbor  at  Nice.     "  It  is  all  nearly 


over." 


"  But  you  are  not  really  sorry  to  be 
going  home,  are  you?"  asked  Lord 
Ashden,  who  was  standing  beside 
him  watching  the  sailors  as  they  made 
their  preparations  for  putting  the  party 
ashore  on  the  following  morning. 

"  Oh,  no! "  cried  the  boy,  his  face  all 
aglow;  "only  I  have  thought  so  much 
about  going  back  to  England  that  it 
hardly  seems  possible  that  it  is  so  close 

at  hand  ;  I  have  to  pinch  myself  some- 
225 


226  Philip 

times  to  reassure  myself  that  it  is  all 
really  true." 

"  What  a  queer  thing  life  is  anyway ! " 
said  Lord  Ashden,  musing,  as  he  looked 
into  the  deep  blue  water  that  rippled 
all  around  them.  "  Be  we  never  so 
happy  in  the  present,  we  are  always 
looking  forward  to  something  just 
ahead  of  us ;  and  it  is  fortunate  indeed 
that  we  cannot  penetrate  the  veil  which 
hides  the  future  from  our  eyes.  I  can 
remember  so  well,  when  I  was  your 
age,  looking  forward  with  just  the  same 
eagerness  to  what  was  just  beyond,  and 
often  when  it  came  —  but  what's  the 
matter,  Philip,  my  boy?  —  you  look  as 
though  you  were  seeing  ghosts,  too. 
Come,  let  us  have  a  brisk  walk  on  the 
deck  together,  and  perhaps  we  shall 
succeed  in  feeling  more  cheerful." 

But  Philip  did  not  smile  with  his  us- 
ual gayety,  and  when  his  friend  looked 
down  in  surprise  he  saw  that  the  boy's 


Home  Again  227 

eyes  were  full  of  tears.  "  Do  you 
know,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  much 
as  I  long  to  go  to  England,  something 
makes  me  half  dread  it ;  is  it  not  a 
strange  feeling  ? " 

Just  at  this  moment  the  owner  of  the 
yacht  poked  his  head  out  of  the  com- 
panionway. 

"  See  here,  Philip,"  he  said,  "  it's  our 
last  night  on  board,  you  know,  and  we 
may  all  be  excused,  I  think,  for  feeling 
a  little  sentimental :  why  can't  we  have 
a  little  music  in  the  cabin  ?  Shall  I  tell 
Marvin  to  fetch  your  violin  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes!"  said  Philip  eagerly;  "I 
will  get  it  myself,"  and  he  ran  off  to 
bring  his  beloved  instrument  from  the 
bottom  of  its  travelling  box,  in  which  it 
had  been  carefully  packed  to  preserve 
it  from  the  effects  of  the  salt  air. 

"  What  shall  I  play  ?  "  he  said,  as 
he  stood,  bow  in  hand,  under  the 
swinging  lamp  in  the  luxurious  cabin. 


228  Philip 

"  Anything  you  like,"  said  their  host, 
making  himself  comfortable  in  a  corner 
of  a  sofa;  "  something  of  a  soft  and 
dreamy  kind,  you  know;"  and  Philip 
began  to  play.  He  was  always  at  his 
best  when  he  could  improvise  and 
wander  on  at  will,  with  no  set  pro- 
gramme to  follow,  and  to-night  he 
quite  astonished  his  hearers  with  the 
brilliancy  of  his  performance,  play- 
ing on  and  on  until  the  lamp  burned 
low,  and  at  last  flickered  and  went 
out,  and  Lord  Ashden  sprang  up, 
saying : 

"  By  Jove !  It  must  be  getting  rather 
late." 

"Ah,"  said  his  friend,  with  a  long 
sigh,  "I  could  have  listened  all  night  — 
I  never  heard  anything  like  it ;  but  see 
here,  Philip,  come  here  a  moment,  my 
boy,  and  let  me  look  at  you.  Are  you 
the  same  Philip  I  heard  laughing  and 
shouting  on  the  deck  to-day?  What 


Home  Again  229 

do  you  know,  a  veritable  baby  like  you, 
about  the  sorrow  and  anguish  and  pain 
of  life  ?  Your  music  to-night  was  full 
of  it ;  but  how  did  it  get  there,  that's 
what  I  want  to  know  ?  " 

"  Was  it  so  very  sad,  then  ?  "  asked 
the  boy,  with  simple  regret.  "  I  am 
sorry.  I  did  not  mean  to  make  it  so,  but 
I  did  feel  it  all  for  a  little  while  —  it  was 
terrible,"  and  he  raised  his  eyes,  full  of 
a  distress  which  he  did  not  understand 
himself,  to  his  friend's  face. 

"  Why,  my  dear  little  man,  this  will 
never  do.  Come  now,  scamper  off  to 
bed,  and  don't  let  me  catch  you  lying 
awake  thinking  of  solemn  and  disa- 
greeable things,  or  I  shall  never  let  you 
come  aboard  my  yacht  again,  never,  do 
you  understand  ?  " 

"  There  is  something  uncanny  about 
that  boy,"  he  muttered,  as  he  went  up 
on  deck  for  a  walk  before  turning  in  for 
the  night.  "  I  would  not  tell  Ashden 


230  Philip 

so,  of  course,  but  I  am  not  so  sure 
that  his  -protege  will  live  to  grow  up 
and  be  the  comfort  and  pleasure  to 
him  which  he  expects  he  is  going  to 
be.  Poor  Ashden! " 

As  for  Philip,  he  was  the  first  one  on 
deck  next  morning,  and  by  breakfast- 
time  was  ravenously  hungry  and  in  the 
best  of  spirits,  notwithstanding  his  re- 
gret at  leaving  the  yacht,  which  they 
were  to  do  in  time  to  catch  the  morning 
train  for  Paris.  His  high  spirits  con- 
tinued during  the  journey,  and  he  chat- 
tered and  laughed,  and  teased  Marvin, 
the  staid  old  man-servant,  until  Lord 
Ashden  was  obliged  to  bribe  him  to 
be  quiet  while  he  took  a  nap.  The 
passage  from  Calais  to  Dover  was  un- 
usually rough,  but  even  the  qualms  of 
seasickness  did  not  altogether  dampen 
the  boy's  spirits. 

"We  are  going  home,  we  are  going 
home,"  he  kept  repeating.  "  In  twenty- 


Home  Again  231 

four  hours  we  shall  see  Uncle  Seldon 
and  Aunt  Delia  and  the  Nortons  and 
Dash.  Dear  old  Dash  —  oh,  I  hope 
he  has  not  forgotten  me ! " 

When  they  arrived  at  Dover  they 
found  a  telegram  from  Dr.  Norton, 
saying  that  the  rector  and  his  wife 
had  come  down  to  London  to  meet 
the  travellers,  and  that  they  were  all 
awaiting  their  arrival  with  breathless 
interest.  Philip  held  the  telegram  in 
his  hand  all  the  way  to  London,  and 
during  the  long  trip  in  the  cab  to 
Kensington,  where  the  Nortons  lived, 
he  was  half  sorry  that  they  were  not 
going  directly  to  Lowdown;  but,  after 
all,  that  would  have  delayed  the  meet- 
ing just  so  much  longer. 

The  cab  at  last  drew  up  before  a 
brightly  lighted  house,  and  some  one 
within  must  have  been  listening  for  the 
sound  of  wheels,  for  before  the  man 
could  leave  his  box,  the  front  door  was 


232  Philip 

thrown  open,  letting  a  broad  blaze  of 
light  out  on  the  pavement. 

To  Philip's  dazzled  eyes  it  seemed 
as  if  the  hallway  was  crowded  with  airy 
figures  pressing  forward  to  greet  them 
as  they  entered,  but  it  was  only  Lillie, 
Rose,  and  the  governess,  in  whom,  to 
his  joy,  he  recognized  his  own  old  friend, 
Miss  Acton.  She  had  changed  but 
little,  but  he  never  would  have  known 
in  any  other  place  the  two  tall  girls 
who  came  forward  with  rather  shy 
cordiality  to  greet  him.  Aunt  Delia 
folded  him  in  her  arms,  saying,  "  My 
darling  boy,  my  own  boy,  how  glad  I 
am  to  have  you  here  with  me  again,  I 
have  longed  for  you  so !  " 

Dr.  Norton  and  his  wife  were  de- 
lighted to  see  him,  and  the  girls  pres- 
ently forgot  their  first  shyness  in  the 
excitement  of  asking  and  answering 
questions.  It  was  a  very  merry  party 
which  gathered  around  the  supper- 


Home  Again  233 

table,  and  Philip  was  touched  to  see 
that  Mrs.  Norton  had  planned  to  have 
all  the  dainties  of  which  she  remem- 
bered Philip  to  have  been  particularly 
fond  in  the  old  days  at  Lowdown. 
Rose  and  Lillie  fluttered  about  the 
room,  too  happy  to  sit  down  quietly 
with  the  others,  and  they  kept  heaping 
delicacies  on  Philip's  plate  until  he 
was  obliged  to  assure  them  laughingly 
that  he  did  not  possess  the  appetite 
and  digestion  of  an  ostrich,  and  then 
suddenly  he  stopped,  with  a  buttered 
crumpet  half  way  to  his  mouth,  to 
ask  where  Marion  was. 

Miss  Acton  explained  that  she  had 
gone  with  friends  to  spend  a  few  days 
at  a  country  house;  she  would  be 
back  very  shortly  though,  and  perhaps 
might  not  have  gone  had  she  known 
that  Lord  Ashden  and  her  cousin  were 
coming  so  soon. 

That  supposition  was  evidently  added 


234  Philip 

to  soothe  a  little  disappointment  that 
was  visible  in  Aunt  Delia's  face.  As 
for  Philip,  he  felt  almost  relieved  that 
he  was  not  to  meet  Marion  immediately. 
His  old  admiration  for  her  beauty  had 
not  faded,  but  equally  fresh  was  his 
vivid  remembrance  of  her  scorn  of  the 
little  cousin  she  used  to  consider  a  dis- 
grace to  the  family. 

He  was  very  happy  for  the  next  few 
days,  giving  himself  up  to  the  enjoy- 
ment of  being  carried  about  to  all 
sorts  of  places  by  the  twins  and  Miss 
Acton. 

"  How  nice  it  is  to  have  a  cousin 
with  us!"  said  Rose;  "mamma  won't 
let  us  go  anywhere  alone  with  Miss 
Acton  since  we  have  grown  so  big,  but 
with  you  for  a  protector  we  can  have 
no  end  of  larks." 

"  Cousin  Philip  may  not  fancy  going 
everywhere  with  a  B.  B.  party,"  said 
Lillie,  rather  mischievously. 


Home  Again  235 

"  I  have  no  idea,"  said  Philip,  "  what 
a  B.  B.  party  is,  but  I  shall  be  only  too 
happy  to  go  anywhere  with  you,"  and 
he  glanced  affectionately  at  Miss  Acton 
as  if  to  include  her. 

"  B.  B.  is  short  for  bread-and-butter 
party,"  explained  Rose;  "that's  what 
papa  calls  Miss  Acton  and  Lillie  and 
me  when  we  do  get  leave  to  go  off  to 
the  park,  or  the  Zoo,  or  anything, 
because  we  take  our  lunch  with  us  so 
as  not  to  shock  the  proprieties  by  going 
into  any  of  those  lovely,  darling  restau- 
rants for  a  bite." 

"  Perhaps  my  uncle  wouldn't  mind 
letting  you  go  into  a  restaurant  if  you 
took  me  along  for  an  escort,"  said  Philip, 
eager  to  please  them. 

"  The  idea!  "  said  Rose  pertly;  "  why, 
he'd  think  we  were  crazy  to  ask  him; 
but  maybe  he  would  let  us  go  into  a 
pastry-cook's  and  have  a  Bath  bun; 
even  that  would  be  exciting,  compared 


236  Philip 

to  getting  round  behind  people  to  gobble 
lunch  out  of  a  paper  bag." 

After  this,  lunch  at  the  pastry-cook's 
became  a  daily  occurrence,  and  on  one 
seraphic  day,  when  Aunt  Delia  was 
persuaded  to  join  the  party,  they  cele- 
brated the  old  lady's  birthday  by  actu- 
ally dining  at  a  restaurant,  to  the  unutter- 
able delight  of  Rose,  who  had  suggested 
that  form  of  dissipation  as  being,  in  her 
mind,  more  ineffably  jolly  than  any  other 
that  was  open  to  them. 

Rest  and  recreation  were  so  new  to 
Philip  that  he  entered  with  all  the  zest 
of  a  child  into  these  simple  pleasures, 
and  for  a  few  days  would  not  even  think 
of  music.  But  as  soon  as  the  week  he 
had  allowed  himself  to  devote  to  pleas- 
ure was  over,  he  presented  himself  with 
his  letters  from  the  old  maestro,  from 
Lord  Ashden,  and  from  the  managers 
in  Milan,  to  a  notable  musical  leader  in 
London.  Such  powerful  recommenda- 


Home  Again  237 


tions,  and  a  private  hearing  of  his 
playing  upon  both  violin  and  piano,  ac- 
complished the  result  he  desired,  and 
an  appearance  was  arranged  for  him  at 
a  concert  in  which  a  wonderful  new 
tenor  and  a  celebrated  prima  donna 
were  to  take  part. 

Even  if  he  had  been  less  talented,  his 
success  might  have  been  considered 
certain,  for  Lord  Ashden  had  written  a 
long  letter  to  a  prominent  patron  of 
music  and  art,  urging  her  to  manifest 
an  interest  in  his  prot&g&.  The  lady,  a 
wealthy  widowed  duchess,  with  a  fine 
musical  talent  of  her  own,  and  a  great 
fancy  for  discovering  and  patronizing 
young  and  unknown  genius,  responded 
promptly  to  Lord  Ashden's  request  by 
sending  her  card  to  Philip  with  an  ap- 
pointment for  him  to  call  on  the  follow- 
ing morning. 

A  desire  from  such  a  quarter  was 
equal  to  a  command,  so  Philip  presented 


238  Philip 

himself  at  the  residence  of  Her  Grace, 
and  was  received  most  kindly.  He 
played,  that  was  of  course,  and  the  lady 
was  enchanted  —  honestly  so —  and 
kept  him  at  it  till  he  feared  he  must  be 
wearying  her.  He  must  make  his 
English  debut  at  her  house;  she 
should  insist  upon  having  the  glory 
of  being  the  first  to  exhibit  this  pearl 
she  had  discovered.  Such  flattering 
interest  from  such  a  source  would 
have  turned  some  older  heads  than 
his,  but  Philip  accepted  it  all  with 
a  grave  simplicity  that  was  irre- 
sistibly charming  to  his  patroness.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  the  compliments 
were  to  the  music,  not  to  himself;  he 
was  simply  the  medium  that  evoked  it; 
as  well  praise  the  instrument  for  giving 
it  as  him  for  drawing  it  out.  As  quietly 
as  he  had  received  her  praise,  but  with 
becoming  gratitude,  he  accepted  her 
invitation  to  play  for  her  and  a  few 


Home  Again  239 

friends  on  an  evening  before  the  con- 
cert. The  promise  was  given,  however, 
subject  to  the  approval  of  the  profes- 
sional leader,  whose  consent  the  lady 
undertook  to  obtain  herself. 


Chapter    XVII 
Marion 

T)HILIP  went  home  in  high  spirits, 
JL  and  the  little  party  rejoiced  over 
his  success  and  congratulated  and  com- 
plimented him  ecstatically.  Lillie  and 
Rose  had  heard  enough  of  his  Milanese 
triumph  to  predict  the  most  wonderful 
success  for  him,  and  revelled  in  antici- 
pation of  the  glory  which  would  crown 
his  appearance.  Their  rapture  was 
complete  when  the  postman  brought  a 
box-order  to  Philip  for  his  friends;  and 
although  Dr.  Norton  was  known  to  be 
strict  in  prohibiting  evening  entertain- 
ments to  his  younger  daughters  while 
they  were  still  in  the  care  of  a  gov- 
erness, Aunt  Delia  ventured  to  promise 

that  just  this  once  they  should  attend. 

240 


Marion  241 

Two  or  three  days  before  the  concert, 
Philip,  coming  into  the  house  after  a 
rehearsal,  felt  as  if  he  should  like  to 
spend  a  quiet  hour  dreaming  over  the 
music  he  was  to  play  at  the  great  con- 
cert. It  was,  perhaps,  one  secret  of 
his  wonderful  power  over  his  listeners 
that  when  a  composition  pleased  him, 
he  would  think  of  it,  dream  of  it,  and 
let  it  absorb  his  whole  soul,  the  strains 
throbbing  through  his  inner  conscious- 
ness as  vividly  as  if  they  were  actual 
sounds  falling  upon  his  ear. 

Quietly,  that  he  need  not  be  seized 
upon  by  his  lively  cousins,  he  stepped 
into  the  darkened  parlor  and  groped 
his  way  to  a  vast  easy-chair,  whose 
luxuriously  cushioned  depths  invited 
repose  of  mind  and  body;  sinking  into 
it,  he  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hands 
and  began  to  recall  the  harmony  he  had 
just  rehearsed.  But  a  murmur  of  voices 
broke  the  silence  —  Lillie's  and  another 


242  Philip 

fresh  and  young  like  hers,  but  unfamil- 
iar. He  suspected  that  it  might  be  his 
cousin  Marion,  and  the  next  words 
convinced  him  that  it  was.  She  had 
returned  while  he  was  absent,  and, 
with  Lillie,  was  discussing  the  things 
that  had  happened  during  their  separa- 
tion. Rose  had  been  attacked  by  a 
sudden  feverish  cold,  and  Aunt  Delia 
had  sent  them  downstairs,  fearing  their 
chatter  might  disturb  her. 

"Poor  Rosy!  I'm  sorry  she's  sick," 
Philip  heard,  in  the  voice  that  was  new 
to  him. 

"Yes,  it  is  very  hard  for  her," 
responded  Lillie.  "  Particularly  as  she 
was  so  anxious  to  go  to  the  concert  and 
hear  Philip." 

"  How  you  all  rave  about  Philip  ! " 
said  Marion.  "You  and  Aunt  Delia, 
and  even  Miss  Acton,  have  talked  about 
him  ever  since  I  came  into  the  house." 

"  Yes,"  admitted  Lillie,  "  we  are  all 


Marion  243 

devoted  to  him;  and  oh,  Marion,  he  is 
so  charming,  so  beautiful,  so  talented, 
every  one  is  wild  about  him!  You 
have  heard  about  his  wonderful  tri- 
umph at  La  Scala;  and  now  the  duchess 
has  taken  him  up,  and  seems  to  be  in- 
fatuated about  him,  and  the  manager 
prophesies  that  he  will  be  the  greatest 
success  of  the  season.  He  is  so  per- 
fectly modest  about  himself,  too,  I  long 
to  have  you  see  him.  I  am  sure  you 
will  become  just  as  proud  of  him  as  we 
are." 

What  blessed  words  were  these  for 
the  happy  listener  to  hear  !  —  for  he  did 
hear  them,  without  even  a  thought  of 
the  impropriety  of  listening  to  a  con- 
versation between  people  who  sup- 
posed themselves  alone.  The  delight 
of  learning  that  his  relatives  gloried  in 
the  honors  paid  to  the  son  of  one  who 
had  once  been  called  a  disgrace  to  the 
family  so  entranced  him  that  he  was 


244  Philip 

unconscious  of  everything  else.  He 
listened  eagerly  for  Marion's  reply, 
losing  for  a  moment  the  ever-present 
recollection  of  her  old  disdain  of  him. 
Her  answer  came  in  clear,  cold  tones 
that  cut  him  like  a  knife. 

"  Proud  of  him,  Lillie !  If  he  were  a 
hundred  times  as  beautiful  and  talented 
as  you  say,  I  should  only  feel  a  hundred 
times  as  much  ashamed  of  being  related 
to  him." 

"Oh,  Marion,  don't  say  that!"  ex- 
claimed Lillie,  in  sudden  distress;  "I 
thought  you  were  over  that  feeling  long 
ago.  Just  think  how  every  one  speaks 
of  him,  and  only  this  morning  papa 
was  saying  how  proud  we  ought  to 
be  of  him." 

"  Yes,"  said  Marion,  "  I  know  it;  but 
I  know  too  that  papa,  in  his  secret 
heart,  although  he  will  never  let  him- 
self say  it,  feels  just  as  I  do.  It  was 
a  whim  of  Lord  Ashden's  to  educate 


Marion  245 

him,  and  he  can  afford  to  enjoy  his 
public  triumph  now  because  every  one 
knows  he  is  nothing  to  him;  but  all  this 
notoriety  makes  our  shame  greater. 
Fancy  being  pointed  out  as  the  cousin 
of  a  professional  musician !  How  can  I 
ever  go  to  the  Crawfords'  or  the  Ash- 
leighs'  again,  or  look  any  of  my  friends 
in  the  face,  with  such  a  fact  made 
public!" 

"But,  Marion,"  said  tender-hearted 
Lillie,  now  sobbing,  "  see  how  he  is 
received  by  the  duchess.  He  went 
there  last  night,  and  this  morning  Lady 
Leaycroft  left  a  card  for  him.  She  is 
Lord  Ashden's  cousin,  you  know,  and 
Aunt  Delia  says  that  after  he  has  ap- 
peared at  the  duchess'  morning  musi- 
cale  he  will  be  invited  by  all  her 
friends.  You  know  you  would  give 
anything  to  go  to  such  houses  your- 
self, Marion." 

"  Yes,  as  an  equal  perhaps  I  should," 


246  Philip 

said  Marion  scornfully,  "  but  not  to 
be  looked  upon  as  occupying  a  menial 
position.  Why,  such  people  would  re- 
gard Philip  as  of  no  more  account 
socially  than  a  flunky.  They  like  to  be 
entertained,  and  are  willing  to  let  him 
amuse  them,  but  that  is  all.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  even  Lord  Ashden  thinks 
him  no  better  than  a  valet." 

Hard,  cruel,  false,  and  unjust  words 
falling  from  beautiful  lips  perfect  enough 
to  be  chosen  as  an  artist's  model,  but 
coming  from  a  heart  filled  with  malice, 
envy,  and  dark,  unlovely  traits.  And 
Philip,  shrinking  back  into  the  depths  of 
the  great  chair,  beaten  down  as  if  by  a 
blow,  heard  them  all. 

He  found  Marion  at  the  table  with 
the  others,  when  he  rather  tardily 
answered  the  summons  to  dinner,  and 
their  meeting  was  quiet  and  cool 
enough.  She  showed  nothing  of  the 
cordiality  which  her  sisters  felt  for 


Marion  247 

him,  and  his  manner  to  her  was  as  dis- 
tant and  grave  as  if  he  were  the  proud 
and  self-sufficient  relative  instead  of 
the  obscure  musician,  whose  birth  and 
profession  were  disgraceful  in  her  eyes. 

But  with  all  his  quiet  manner  he 
never,  for  one  half-instant,  lost  the  bit- 
ter memory  of  those  terrible  words  of 
Marion's  that  had  crushed  his  sensitive 
nature  and  wounded  him  more  fearfully 
than  if  his  actual  living  flesh  had  been 
pierced  by  a  barb  of  steel.  In  his  hu- 
mility he  never  once  thought  of  resent- 
ing even  in  thought  the  unkindness  of 
her  speech,  or  comforted  himself  with 
an  assurance  that  her  words  were 
cruelly  unjust;  he  simply  sank  into 
blank  despair  at  the  belief  that  all  his 
efforts  to  elevate  himself  had  been  in 
vain,  and  all  his  hopes  of  winning 
fame  and  glory  by  his  art  the  idle  fan- 
cies of  an  ignorant  dreamer. 

Locked  in  his  own  room,  while  the 


248  Philip 

family  believed  him  still  at  the  rehear- 
sal, he  had  a  fierce  struggle  with  him- 
self, and  it  was  only  love  for  dear  old 
Aunt  Delia  and  gratitude  to  Lord 
Ashden  that  helped  him  to  regain  com- 
posure at  last,  and  not  follow  his  first 
impulsive  determination  to  fly  anywhere, 
anywhere,  off,  far,  far  off,  where  they 
never  should  find  him  or  hear  of  him 
again.  But  self-pleasing  had  never  been 
his  habit,  so  it  came  rather  more  natu- 
rally to  him  than  it  might  to  some  to 
conquer  his  own  desires  and  compel 
himself  to  keep  the  engagements  for 
the  public  and  private  concerts,  the 
thought  of  which  had  now  grown  hate- 
ful to  him. 

His  beautiful  spiritual  face  was  start- 
lingly  pale  and  his  hands  trembled  ner- 
vously, but  Aunt  Delia  never  doubted 
but  that  these  were  the  signs  of  a  nat- 
ural excitement  caused  by  the  anticipa- 
tion of  the  approaching  concert.  His 


Marion  249 

appearance  and  manners  showed  refine- 
ment and  cultivation  so  far  beyond 
anything  that  Marion  had  expected  to 
see  that  she  was  really  greatly  surprised 
and,  in  spite  of  her  previous  sentiments, 
interested  in  him.  But  not  even  to  her 
sister  would  she  admit  that  her  views 
were  in  any  way  changed,  and  when 
going  to  the  concert  was  discussed,  she 
would  not  acknowledge  any  desire  to 
hear  Philip  play,  but  appeared  to  give 
her  consent  to  going  with  Lillie  and 
Miss  Acton  simply  to  please  the  others. 

After  dinner  Aunt  Delia  whispered 
to  Philip  that  she  would  like  to  have 
him  stop  in  her  room  for  a  moment  on 
his  way  upstairs.  He  followed  her 
almost  immediately,  and  his  ruffled  feel- 
ings were  soothed  at  once  under  the 
influence  of  her  gentle  presence. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  she  said,  when  they 
had  entered  the  pleasant  chamber  to- 
gether and  she  had  closed  the  door, "  I 


250  Philip 

have  something  for  you  which  I  am 
sure  will  please  you  —  and  which  I 
hope  you  will  enjoy  carrying  about  with 
you  as  much  as  I  have  enjoyed  having 
it  prepared  for  you."  She  unlocked  a 
drawer  and  took  from  it  a  small  square 
box  which  she  laid  in  Philip's  hand; 
the  boy  removed  the  outer  covering 
with  fingers  which  trembled  with  pleas- 
ure and  excitement,  and  drew  forth 
from  its  wrappings  of  tissue-paper  a 
small  oval  case  of  dark  leather.  Touch- 
ing a  spring  at  the  side,  the  case  flew 
open,  and  Philip  gave  a  little  gasp  of 
wonder  and  delight  as  he  gazed  upon 
two  portraits,  similar  in  size  and  execu- 
tion, of  his  father  and  mother.  They 
were  exquisitely  painted  on  ivory,  and 
Philip  noticed  at  once  that  the  pict- 
ure of  his  father  was  exactly  similar  to 
the  one  which  his  mother  had  worn 
about  her  neck. 

"  But  my  mother  !  "  he  exclaimed;  "  it 


Marion  251 

is  perfect  —  her  eyes,  her  hair,  her 
mouth  ;  the  artist  must  have  seen  her, 
surely." 

"  He  did,"  said  Aunt  Delia  gently, 
"  for  the  artist  was  your  father,  Philip. 
You  remember  that  in  the  old  desk 
which  stood  in  your  mother's  room,  and 
which  we  opened  after  her  death,  there 
were  a  number  of  papers  and  packages, 
the  greater  part  of  no  particular  value. 
You  will  also  remember  that  you  asked 
me  to  take  charge  of  these  and  look 
them  over  at  my  leisure.  Well,  it  was 
not  until  a  month  ago  that  I  had  the 
heart  to  do  so,  and  from  the  first  pack- 
age which  I  untied  there  fell  out  your 
mother's  picture,  which  your  father 
must  have  painted  just  before  or 
perhaps  soon  after  their  marriage.  It 
occurred  to  me  all  at  once  that  the  two 
portraits  (that  of  your  father  I  had 
already  planned  to  give  you  on  your 
return  to  England)  could  be  framed 


252  Philip 

together,  for  in  death  they  are  not 
divided." 

"Dear  Aunt  Delia,"  murmured  the 
boy,  his  swimming  eyes  fixed  upon  his 
mother's  face  as  though  he  would  have 
devoured  it,  "  how  can  I  thank  you  ?  — 
and  oh,  how  I  wish  that  you  could  have 
known  my  mother  !  I  know,  I  feel  sure, 
that  you  would  have  loved  her." 

"  I  do  love  her,  my  boy,"  said  Aunt 
Delia  quietly,  "  and  I  believe  her  to 
have  been  a  lovely  and  noble  woman, 
and  fully  worthy  of  the  love  of  a  fine 
man  like  your  father,  Philip." 

The  boy  turned  and  flung  his  arms 
about  Mrs.  Seldon's  neck. 

"Oh,  Aunt  Delia,  thank  you!"  he 
sobbed.  "  It  is  just  that  which  I  have 
longed  to  hear  you  say." 

And  when  the  two  went  downstairs 
together  arm  in  arm,  Philip's  face  was 
so  radiant  that  when  Lillie  whispered : 

"  Look,  Marion !    Is  not  Philip  really 


Marion  253 

beautiful    to-night  ? "    her    sister    was 
forced  to  reply  : 

"  Yes,  I  must  acknowledge  that  he  is 
tolerably  good-looking." 


Chapter    XVIII 
The  Concert 

T)HILIP'S  manager  had  consented, 
-L  although  rather  reluctantly,  that 
the  boy  should  play  a  night  or  two 
before  the  concert  at  the  house  of  Lord 
Ashden's  friend,  the  duchess,  who  had 
shown  him  so  much  kindness  upon  his 
arrival  in  London.  She  had  gathered 
together  three  or  four  score  of  her  par- 
ticular friends,  who  belonged  to  the 
most  critical  musical  set  in  London, 
and  when  Lord  Ashden  looked  around 
the  room  and  began  to  discern  the  char- 
acter of  the  audience,  he  glanced  rather 
anxiously  at  Philip. 

Never  before   had   he    been   so   im- 
pressed with  the  boy's  extreme  youth, 
254 


The  Concert  255 

and  with  his  entire  simplicity  and  un- 
consciousness, as  he  came  modestly 
forward  with  his  pretty  air  of  being 
genuinely  pleased  by  the  sound  of 
clapping  hands  which  greeted  him; 
and  as  he  flashed  upon  the  company 
one  of  his  sunny  smiles  the  women 
murmured,  "  What  a  little  love  I "  and 
the  men,  many  of  them  hardened  con- 
cert-goers, drew  up  their  chairs,  pre- 
pared to  listen  with  some  curiosity  to 
this  fragile  morsel  of  humanity,  of  whose 
wonderful  playing  they  had  heard  such 
great  things  from  their  hostess. 

"  He  hardly  looks  as  though  he  had 
strength  enough  to  handle  the  bow 
through  such  a  difficult  selection  as  he 
has  chosen  to  begin  his  programme 
with,"  said  a  stout  violincellist;  "but 
we  shall  see." 

Philip  played  his  best,  and  as  usual, 
after  the  first  bar  or  two,  he  forgot 
all  about  himself  and  his  audience. 


256  Philip 

and  thought  only  of  the  music  before 
him.  The  second  selection  he  played 
without  notes,  and  with  a  sympathy 
and  abandon  which  astonished  his 
hearers;  and  the  final  number  of  the 
programme  finished,  as  he  lowered  his 
bow  and  stood  for  a  moment  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  there  was  a  hush 
of  astonishment  and  pleasure.  Then 
the  applause  began,  lasting  for  full  five 
minutes,  while  the  people  gathered 
around  Philip,  shaking  hands  and  kiss- 
ing him,  the  older  musicians  among  the 
first  to  pay  their  willing  tribute  to  his 
genius. 

"  He  is  wonderful  —  marvellous !  " 
Lord  Ashden  heard  them  saying  on  all 
sides.  "  What  a  career  he  has  ahead  of 
him!  "  And  in  the  midst  of  it  all  he 
felt  a  warm  little  hand  slipped  into 
his,  and  Philip's  voice  whispered: 

"  Come,  dear  Lord  Ashden,  let  us 
go  home." 


The  Concert  257 

"  Didn't  you  like  all  that  petting, 
my  dear  boy  ? "  Lord  Ashden  asked 
in  an  amused  voice  as  they  rolled  away 
from  the  musicale  in  the  duchess'  own 
carriage,  which  she  had  insisted  upon 
sending  for  them. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Philip  thought- 
fully. "  I  am  glad  they  like  my  music 
of  course,  but  somehow  —  a  word  or 
two  from  you,  or  one  of  dear  Signer 
Marini's  funny  little  grunts  of  approval, 
seems  to  make  me  ten  times  happier. 
I  wish" — he  paused  a  moment  and  his 
eyes  shone  in  the  darkness  of  the  car- 
riage —  "I  wish  I  could  thank  you.  I 
pray  each  night  that  God  will  reward 
you  for  all  that  you  have  done  for 
me." 

"  He  has  rewarded  me,"  exclaimed 
Lord  Ashden,  "  by  sending  you  to  be 
the  comfort  and  joy  of  my  life." 

The  night  of  the  concert  came  at  last, 
and  Philip  was  by  all  odds  the  calmest 


258  Philip 

and  least  excited  of  the  party.  Lord 
Ashden  had  some  misgivings  as  to  the 
result  of  this  first  public  appearance 
in  England,  for  in  spite  of  the  boy's  un- 
doubted success  at  La  Scala  he  knew 
that  the  audience  of  a  London  concert- 
hall  were  far  more  likely  to  be  coldly 
critical  than  the  music-loving  and  ex- 
citable Italians.  He  realized,  too,  that 
upon  the  success  or  failure  of  this 
rather  bold  experiment  depended  in 
large  measure  the  young  violinist's 
future  career,  and  he  confessed  secretly 
to  Aunt  Delia  that  he  would  be  relieved 
and  glad  when  the  evening  was  over. 
As  for  the  dear  old  lady  herself,  she  was 
scarcely  able  to  control  her  excitement, 
and  she  kept  following  Philip  about  the 
house  all  day  with  milk-punches  and 
some  homoeopathic  pellets  which  she 
had  been  told  were  excellent  for  the 
nerves. 

"But   Philip    has    no    nerves,"   said 


The  Concert  259 

Lord  Ashden,  laughing,  and  baring 
the  boy's  wrist  that  Aunt  Delia  might 
lay  her  hand  upon  the  pulse  which  was 
beating  with  the  calmness  and  regular- 
ity of  a  trip-hammer.  As  for  Philip, 
he  could  only  repeat  what  he  had  said 
at  Milan  : 

"  I  can  but  play  my  best,  and  I  hope 
the  audience  may  like  it;  at  any  rate,  I 
have  no  fear  of  breaking  down,  for  I 
know  my  score  perfectly." 

His  cousins  were  all  excitement  and 
affectionate  interest,  all,  that  is  to  say, 
except  Marion,  who  continued  to  main- 
tain her  air  of  haughty  disdain,  and 
once  or  twice  when  the  others  were 
talking  of  the  concert,  she  even  yawned 
perceptibly,  and  at  last  left  the  room. 

Philip,  try  as  he  would  not  to  care, 
was  deeply  wounded  by  her  behavior, 
and  in  his  humility  he  felt  that  he  must 
be  in  some  way  deserving  of  her  scorn. 

"  She  is  so  clever,"  he  thought,  "  and 


260  Philip 

so  perfectly  at  her  ease  in  a  drawing- 
room  !  I  suppose  that  in  comparison  I 
must  appear  very  green  and  awkward; 
and  yet  Rose  and  Lillie  seem  to  like 
me.  I  wonder  if  they  are  only  kind  to 
me  because  they  fear  to  hurt  my  feel- 
'ings?  " 

And  thus  the  poor  sensitive  boy 
tormented  himself  up  to  the  moment 
when  the  carriage  appeared  at  the  door 
to  take  them  to  the  concert;  then,  for- 
tunately for  his  peace  of  mind,  he  began 
to  think  of  the  music  which  he  was 
about  to  play,  and  this  soon  drove  all 
other  thoughts  from  his  mind. 

Dash  had  spent  the  day  close  at 
Philip's  heels,  and  as  the  evening 
approached  he  seemed  to  feel  that 
something  unusual  was  to  occur;  and 
when  at  last  the  party  assembled  in 
the  hall,  ready  to  start  for  the  concert, 
the  little  creature's  excitement  increased, 
and  he  went  from  one  to  the  other,  beg- 


The  Concert  261 

ging  so  earnestly  to  be  taken  along  that 
Philip  at  last  said  laughingly: 

"  I  believe  that  Dash  thinks  I  am 
going  away  on  another  journey,  for  he 
whines  precisely  as  he  did  when  we 
started  for  Italy  three  years  ago.  Be 
a  good  dog!  Down,  Dash!  You 
know  you  cannot  go,  and,  after  all,  I 
will  soon  be  back,  you  foolish  dog ! " 

But  Dash  only  barked  and  fidgeted 
the  more,  and  at  last  when  they  were 
all  in  the  carriage,  he  broke  away  from 
the  servant  who  was  trying  to  hold  him 
in  the  hall,  and  springing  into  the  coach 
attempted  to  creep  under  the  seat. 
Philip,  however,  was  too  quick  for  him, 
and  dragging  him  forth  again  carried 
him  back  into  the  house.  As  they 
drove  down  the  street  they  could  hear 
him  howling  dismally,  and  Dr.  Norton 
remarked  laughingly: 

"  It  is  fortunate  we  don't  believe  in 
signs,  Philip,  or  Dash's  howling  would 


262  Philip 

certainly  be  looked  upon  as  a  bad 
omen." 

They  remembered  this  afterwards, 
and  also  that  Philip  replied  in  his 
clear,  sweet  voice : 

"  Dash  is  a  very  wise  dog,  Uncle 
Frank,  and  perhaps  he  had  his  own 
reasons  for  whining  as  he  did." 

Philip  was  very  quiet  during  the 
drive  to  the  concert-hall,  which  was 
quite  a  long  one,  and  indeed  none  of 
the  party  felt  much  inclined  toward 
conversation  until  Marion  said  at  last  : 

"  Dear  me,  how  solemn  and  stupid 
we  all  are.  One  would  think  we  were 
going  to  a  funeral.  I  wish  it  were  all 
over,"  she  added.  "  We  shall  be  so 
conspicuous,  and  I  hate  crowds." 

"  Marion ! "  said  her  mother  reprov- 
ingly. And  glancing  at  Philip  she  was 
glad  to  notice  that  he  had  not  appar- 
ently heeded  his  cousin's  remark. 

"  I    must   have    a   serious   talk  with 


The  Concert  263 

Marion,"  said  Mrs.  Norton  to  herself. 
"  She  seems  to  have  grown  quite 
thoughtless  of  the  feelings  of  others  of 
late,  and  I  am  afraid  she  has  wounded 
Philip  several  times  since  her  return. 
What  can  have  come  over  her,  I 
wonder  ?  " 

And  then  the  carriage  drew  up 
before  the  stage-door,  and  Philip  was 
pounced  upon  by  his  manager  and 
carried  off,  while  the  others  slowly 
made  their  way  through  the  crowds 
which  were  pouring  into  the  building, 
to  the  box  which  had  been  reserved 
for  their  party  near  the  stage. 

There  were  to  be  other  performers 
besides  Philip  —  a  celebrated  pianist,  a 
player  on  the  harp,  and  a  popular  prima 
donna;  so  many  attractions  filled  the 
house  that  even  Marion,  looking  at 
the  brilliant  audience,  was  forced  to 
acknowledge  that  it  was  a  great  com- 
pliment to  Philip's  playing  that  he 


264  Philip 

should  have  been  asked  to  appear  on 
such  an  occasion;  while  Lord  Ashden 
felt  some  nervous  apprehension  as  he 
remarked  several  of  the  most  distin- 
guished musical  critics  in  London  in 
a  box  near  their  own. 

Just  before  Philip's  turn  to  play  came 
on  the  programme,  a  friend  of  Lord 
Ashden  sent  down  from  his  box  in  the 
centre  of  the  house  to  suggest  that 
the  party  should  join  him  there,  as  a 
better  view  of  the  whole  house  and  of 
Philip's  effect  upon  the  audience  could 
be  gained  at  a  greater  distance  from 
the  stage;  so  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Norton, 
Mrs.  Seldon  and  Lord  Ashden,  quietly 
made  the  change,  leaving  the  girls  in 
charge  of  Miss  Acton  during  their  ab- 
sence. 

The  latter  shared  with  Lillie  her  ner- 
vousness and  excitement,  and  they  were 
both  so  full  of  hopes  and  fears  for 
Philip  that  they  hardly  gave  civil  atten- 


The  Concert  265 

tion  to  the  professor's  wonderful  piano 
gymnastics,  or  listened  to  Madame  La- 
lage  when  she  sang  Cherubini's  "  Ave  " 
in  her  thrilling  and  matchless  voice. 
And  even  Marion  leaned  breathlessly 
forward,  forgetful  for  once  of  herself 
and  her  becoming  new  gown,  as  the 
prima  donna's  billowy  robes  and  shim- 
mering satin  train  swept  out  of  sight 
and  Philip  stepped  quietly  forth  upon 
the  stage. 

They  need  not  have  feared  for  him, 
for  he  was  perfectly  composed,  and 
stood  looking  curiously  about  the  house, 
smiling  a  little  and  waiting  until  the 
applause  which  followed  the  retreating 
favorite  should  have  quite  died  away. 
He  was  unknown  to  the  greater  part  of 
the  audience,  and  a  murmur  went  about 
the  house;  he  was  so  young,  a  mere 
baby, — was  it  possible  he  could  play? 
And  then  he  raised  his  violin  and  began. 
The  people  glanced  at  their  pro- 


266  Philip 

grammes:  "Bach's  Allemande,  Suite 
No.  2,  in  C  Major."  Another  flutter 
of  surprise,  and  then  gradually  silence, 
deep  and  profound,  as  dreamily  and 
rhythmically  the  wave-like  accentua- 
tion of  the  mystical  melody  fell  upon 
the  listening  ears  which  were  en- 
tranced by  the  wonderful  pathos  of 
the  composition  as  the  young  per- 
former rendered  it.  An  intense  still- 
ness held  the  whole  house,  and  not  a 
note  was  lost  till  he  finished,  and  with 
downcast  eyes  made  his  low,  grave 
salutation,  and  turned  to  leave  the 
stage.  Before  he  vanished  a  superb 
bouquet  from  the  duchess  was  handed 
him,  and  his  patroness  herself  from  her 
box  bent  forward  with  sparkling  eyes, 
bowing  and  smiling  her  delighted  ap- 
proval. 

The  spellbound  audience  rallied  then 
and  deafened  itself  with  applause, 
but  owing  to  the  length  of  the 


The  Concert  267 

bill  there  were  to  be  no  encores; 
so  the  pianist  took  his  place,  to  be 
succeeded  by  the  other  performers, 
and  then,  after  another  song  by  Lalage, 
Philip  returned,  and  as  he  took  his 
place  there  was  a  rather  quick  flutter- 
ing of  programmes  as  people  looked 
quickly  to  see  what  they  were  to  hear 
from  the  beautiful,  wonderful  boy  vio- 
linist. But  "  A  Study,"  with  no  com- 
poser's name  annexed,  gave  no  clue  to 
what  they  might  expect. 

He  began  with  a  sweet,  soft  melody 
in  A,  a  pathetic  lullaby  that  seemed, 
with  all  its  sweetness,  to  carry  a  deso- 
late sadness  that  made  the  tears  start 
to  many  eyes;  then  the  music  changed 
strangely,  and  wild,  defiant  sounds 
took  the  place  of  the  unutterably  sweet 
melody;  gradually  these  new  sounds 
gave  way  to  throbbing,  wailing  strains, 
which  told  of  unfathomable  sorrow 
and  hopeless  despair.  The  keen  agony 


268  Philip 

that  the  music  expressed  seemed  to 
oppress  the  audience,  and  many  of 
them  wept  unrestrainedly.  Lillie  and 
Miss  Acton,  feeling  certain  that  the 
"  Study"  was  Philip's  own  composi- 
tion, and  was  the  musical  expression 
of  his  own  thoughts,  shrank  to  the 
back  of  the  box  to  conceal  their  con- 
vulsive weeping.  Marion  kept  her 
place,  but  even  she  lifted  her  handker- 
chief to  wipe  the  tears  from  her  eyes. 
She  could  hardly  feel  ashamed  of  her 
emotion  when  she  saw  the  impulsive 
and  music-loving  duchess  opposite 
sobbing  like  a  child;  but  no  one  is 
all  evil,  and  perhaps  the  music  really 
touched  what  was  good  and  genuine 
in  her  nature,  and  elevated  her  for  the 
time  above  the  arrogance  that  made 
her  unlovely  in  spite  of  all  her  grace 
and  beauty. 

In  another  moment  the  pitiful  minor 
passages  that  were  thrilling  the  listen- 


The  Concert  269 

ers  would  have  become  unbearable,  but 
sweet  flashes  of  sound  began  to  break 
through,  and  the  woe  melted  into  a 
lovely  pastoral  that,  like  a  song  with- 
out words,  told  the  story  of  a  quiet, 
happy  life,  with  only  the  occasional 
anguish  of  a  dull  minor  strain  that 
broke  upon  the  calm  like  the  disturb- 
ing intrusion  of  a  haunting,  uneasy 
thought  that  could  not  always  be  re- 
pressed. Once,  as  he  played,  he  turned 
his  head  slightly  and  looked  fixedly  for 
a  moment  into  his  cousins'  box,  and  the 
color  burned  for  an  instant  in  his  pale 
face  as  he  met  Marion's  tearful  eyes; 
but  there  was  no  pause  in  the  music, 
and  if  any  one  noticed  the  passing  emo- 
tion, no  one  understood  it.  And  once 
again  the  thunder  of  clapping  hands 
passed  over  the  house  as  the  young 
musician  quietly  withdrew,  and  people 
turned  their  programmes  to  see  if  he 
was  to  play  again. 


270  Philip 

"  Once  more,"  they  murmured,  and 
Lillie  and  Miss  Acton  retired  again  to 
the  back  of  the  box,  where  this  time 
they  were  joined  by  Marion,  to  talk 
over  their  cousin's  triumph. 


Chapter  XIX 
Fire 

FOR  the  third  and  last  time  that 
evening  Philip  stepped  upon  the 
stage;  he  knew  his  audience  now,  and 
they  knew  him,  and  settled  back  to 
enjoy  the  treat  which  surely  awaited 
them  ;  and  they  were  not  disappointed. 
The  boy  threw  his  whole  soul  into  his 
music,  and  the  vast  building  might 
almost  have  been  empty,  so  silent  was 
the  listening  crowd.  And  then  there 
came  a  moment's  pause  between  the 
movements  in  the  music,  and  Philip 
threw  back  his  head  for  an  instant  in 
a  way  he  had  ;  as  he  did  so  he  saw 
something  which  drove  the  blood  to  his 

heart,  for  high  above  his  head  a  corner 
271 


272  Philip 

of  light  drapery  had  been  blown  against 
a  lighted  gas-jet,  and  a  little  curl- 
ing tongue  of  flame  had  just  started 
on  its  way  along  the  edge  of  the  cur- 
tain. Philip  went  on  at  once  with  his 
playing,  but  as  he  played  he  stepped, 
almost  unperceived,  nearer  to  one  side 
of  the  stage,  where  he  knew  the  man- 
ager was  standing,  and  whispered: 

"  Look,  above  your  head,"  and 
the  sweet,  unfaltering  melody  flowed 
smoothly  on  ;  but  soon  the  little  tongue 
of  flame  had  crept  around  to  the  front 
of  the  curtain,  and  suddenly  a  strange 
agitation  seemed  to  possess  the  audi- 
ence. The  people  rose  to  their  feet  in 
evident  alarm,  frightened  cries  were 
heard,  and  some  rushed  from  their  seats 
into  the  aisles,  while  from  some  quarter 
came  the  terrible  cry  of  "  Fire  !  "  The 
manager  came  to  the  front  of  the  stage 
and  implored  the  people  to  be  calm 
and  avoid  the  crowding  and  crushing 


Fire  273 

that  would  result  unless  they  left  the 
building  in  an  orderly  way,  for  which 
he  assured  them  there  was  abundant 
time  if  they  would  avoid  a  panic.  For 
a  moment  they  listened  to  his  exhor- 
tation and  seemed  to  obey,  but  even  as 
he  spoke  the  flames  began  to  dart 
through  the  billow-like  rolls  of  smoke 
that  curled  around  the  wall  upon  one 
side.  Then  there  was  an  instant's  hush 
of  dismay  as  the  fire  caught  the  end  of 
some  hanging  drapery,  and  followed 
its  festoonings,  in  a  wild,  blazing 
wreath,  around  the  room,  catching  in 
its  mad  rush  the  light  varnished  wood 
trimmings,  that  burned  like  tinder.  The 
crowd  became  ungovernable  then,  and 
a  frightful  scene  of  confusion  ensued  as 
they  fought  their  way  toward  the  en- 
trance, defeating,  in  their  frantic  haste, 
the  efforts  of  those  who  were  cool 
enough  to  direct  their  movements. 
Philip,  while  the  manager  was  speak- 


274  Philip 

ing,  had  stood  with  calm  self-possession, 
revolving  in  his  mind  what  was  best  to 
be  done.  It  would  have  been  very  easy 
to  have  retreated  at  once  through  the 
back  of  the  stage,  but  of  this  he  did 
not  think  for  an  instant,  and  he  turned 
towards  the  box  where  the  young 
Nortons  were  sitting.  It  was  only  a 
few  feet  above  the  stage,  and  he 
sprang  towards  it,  holding  out  his 
hands. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "come  quickly! 
It  is  but  a  step;  jump  upon  the  stage 
and  we  will  get  out  through  the  dress- 
ing-room. I  know  the  way,  and  it  is 
the  only  thing  to  do — the  corridors  are 
already  blocked." 

Miss  Acton  helped  the  girls  over  the 
edge  of  the  box  and  down  upon  the 
stage,  following  herself  with  Philip's 
assistance. 

"Where  are  the  others?"  he  asked. 

"  Safe,    I    am    sure,"    replied    Miss 


Fire  275 

Acton,  speaking  quickly.  "  There's  a 
staircase  near  the  entrance  of  their 
box." 

"  Then  come  with  me,"  said  Philip. 

They  remembered  afterwards  how 
calm  he  was,  and  that  he  looked  back 
and  smiled  encouragement  over  his 
shoulder  as  he  rapidly  led  the  way 
towards  the  back  of  the  stage;  but  the 
flames  had  made  great  headway  in  the 
short  time  since  they  were  first  dis- 
covered, and  the  narrow  passageways 
behind  the  wings  were  filled  with 
smoke.  For  an  instant  Philip  hesi- 
tated, but  glancing  back  he  saw  that 
there  was  no  hope  of  escape  through 
the  house,  which  was  filled  with  a 
pushing,  struggling  mass  of  terrified 
men  and  women.  He  turned  again, 
bidding  the  others  follow  him,  and  they 
obeyed;  but  when  he  had  led  them  to 
the  back  of  the  stage,  in  the  very 
direction  in  which  the  fire  was  ap- 


276  Philip 

preaching,    Marion    shrank   back    and 
refused  to  follow. 

"  But  you  will  die  if  you  stay," 
exclaimed  Philip,  seizing  her  arm  and 
drawing  her  forcibly  along,  and  at  the 
same  time  calling  to  the  others  to  fol- 
low, which  they  did,  pale  and  trembling, 
but  never  attempting  to  question  his  wis- 
dom in  leading  them  through  a  door  at 
which  the  flames  were  already  darting. 

"I  cannot  go  there,  I  cannot!" 
screamed  Marion,  pulling  back  and 
looking  toward  the  auditorium,  where 
the  struggling  people  were  packed 
closer  and  closer  about  the  door,  and 
where  terrible  cries  of  anguish  told 
that  the  bitterness  of  death  was  coming 
to  some  upon  whom  the  stronger  and 
fiercer  trampled,  without  waiting  for  the 
flames  they  were  fleeing  from. 

There  was  no  hope  there,  and  Philip 
knew  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost,  so  he 
half  lifted,  half  dragged  Marion  through 


Fire  277 

the  door,  still  resisting,  but  half  fainting 
with  terror.  There  was  a  long  lobby 
to  go  through,  then  another  door  to 
open,  and  they  found  themselves  in  a 
small  triangular  room  in  which  was  one 
window  and  another  door  opening  upon 
a  narrow  staircase,  which  led  directly 
to  one  of  the  outer  doors.  To  this  door 
Philip  sprang  as  they  entered  the  little 
apartment,  but,  alas!  it  was  securely 
locked  and  the  key  withdrawn;  he 
made  one  mad  effort  to  force  the  door, 
but  it  offered  the  firmest  resistance. 
Then  he  remembered  that  at  rehearsal 
the  manager  had  given  him  a  key,  that 
he  might  leave  the  building  by  that 
door  after  his  last  piece  should  be 
played,  if  he  chose  not  to  wait  for  the 
end  of  the  concert.  Unhappily,  instead 
of  putting  the  key  in  his  pocket,  he  had 
carried  it  to  his  dressing-room,  and  now 
he  remembered  distinctly  having  thrown 
it  upon  the  table. 


278  Philip 

There  was  one  appalling  moment  of 
dismay  for  them  all,  then  Lillie  said 
solemnly: 

"  Go  and  try  to  save  yourself,  Philip ; 
perhaps  you  can  find  a  way  out  if  you 
have  not  us  to  take  care  of." 

"  I  will  save  you  yet,"  said  Philip 
with  quiet  determination.  "  I  will  go 
for  the  key,"  and  he  rushed  away  from 
them  through  the  narrow  passage  toward 
the  stage,  where  the  fire  now  roared  and 
thundered  with  a  fury  indescribable. 
His  dressing-room  could  be  reached  by 
a  short  hallway  behind  the  stage.  It  was 
chokingly  full  of  thick,  black  smoke, 
but,  holding  his  breath,  he  dashed 
through  it  and  gained  the  place  he 
sought.  The  dressing-room  was  also 
full  of  smoke,  but  he  seized  the  key  and 
rushed  again  to  the  passage.  In  that 
instant  of  time  fire  had  taken  the  place 
of  smoke,  and  it  seemed  as  if  to  attempt 
to  go  through  it  would  be  to  court 


Fire  279 

certain  and  swift  destruction.  There 
was  another  door,  and  it  led,  as  Philip 
knew,  to  the  large  back  stairway  in 
that  part  of  the  building  as  yet  unat- 
tacked  by  the  flames.  To  open  the 
door  and  fly  down  those  stairs  meant 
escape  from  a  fiery  death;  but  to  go 
would  be  to  leave  his  friends  to  perish 
miserably  in  the  little  room  to  which  he 
had  taken  them.  He  hesitated  only 
long  enough  to  tear  off  his  coat  and 
drench  it  in  a  basin  of  water;  then  wrap- 
ping it  over  his  head,  he  plunged  into 
the  gulf  of  fire.  What  the  horror  and 
agony  of  that  passage  was,  no  one  will 
ever  know;  but  he  reached  his  cousins, 
who  were  already  driven,  by  smoke  and 
approaching  flames,  into  the  remotest 
corner  of  the  little  room.  He  threw 
them  the  key  as  he  fell  to  the  floor,  un- 
able to  take  another  step. 

They  opened  the  door,  and  between 
them  dragged    him   into  the  purer  air 


280  Philip 

and  supported  him  down  the  stairs 
to  the  street,  where  he  was  at  once 
taken  care  of  by  the  crowd  who  were 
gathered  to  look  on  and  assist  if  pos- 
sible. 

The  panic  in  the  front  of  the  house 
soon  subsided,  for  the  fire-engines  which 
came  from  all  over  London  quickly 
put  out  the  flames,  and  the  greatest 
damage  caused  by  the  fire  had  been 
behind  the  stage.  But  many  had  been 
trampled  on  and  injured  in  the  stampede 
of  the  audience  for  the  doors,  and  the 
police  and  ambulance  surgeons  had  all 
that  they  could  possibly  do.  Philip  was 
carried  immediately  into  a  small  shop 
in  the  neighborhood,  where  half  a  dozen 
sympathizing  strangers  promised  to  care 
for  him  and  the  girls,  who  were  half 
unconscious  from  the  smoke  which 
they  had  inhaled,  while  Miss  Acton 
went  to  look  for  the  remainder  of  the 
party,  who  she  knew  would  be  frantic 


Fire  281 

with  anxiety  as  to  the  fate  of  the 
children. 

She  did  at  last  succeed  in  finding 
Lord  Ashden  and  Dr.  Norton,  who  had 
sent  the  ladies  home  in  a  cab,  while 
they  returned  to  search  for  Philip  and 
Miss  Acton's  party,  whom  they  had 
seen  clambering  over  the  box,  and 
who  they  supposed  had  escaped  without 
difficulty  through  the  back  way.  When 
Miss  Acton  told  them  as  quietly  as 
she  could  that  Philip  had  been  hurt,  al- 
though she  hoped  not  seriously  so,  Lord 
Ashden  staggered  and  would  have 
fallen  had  not  Dr.  Norton  supported 
him,  and  when  they  entered  the  dingy 
back  room  in  the  little  shop  where 
Philip  lay,  white  and  unconscious,  on 
the  sofa,  his  guardian  sank  upon  the 
floor  beside  him  and  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands. 

"  My  boy,  my  boy  I "  he  moaned.  But 
in  an  instant  he  recovered  himself  and 


282  Philip 

made  arrangements  to  have  the  whole 
party  taken  home  as  quickly  as  possible. 

The  surgeon,  whose  services  had  at 
last  been  secured,  did  what  he  could  to 
restore  Philip  to  conciousness,  but  with- 
out success.  "  He  is  suffering  from 
shock,"  he  said,  "and  may  remain  insen- 
sible for  several  hours.  Get  him  home 
and  to  bed  as  quickly  as  possible;  I  do 
not  think  his  burns  are  serious." 

And  he  hurried  away  to  relieve  the 
sufferings  of  a  lady  who  had  been  tram- 
pled on  by  the  crowd. 

It  was  a  sad  party  which  drove  back 
to  Kensington;  the  sisters  were  only 
half  aroused  from  the  sort  of  stupor 
which  seemed  to  have  fallen  upon  them, 
and  they  lay  back  in  the  carriage, 
while  upon  the  other  seat  sat  Lord  Ash- 
den,  supporting  the  unconscious  Philip 
in  his  arms,  and  keeping  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  boy's  face  with  an  expression 
of  silent  agony. 


Fire  283 

Miss  Acton  and  Dr.  Norton,  who 
had  driven  home  more  rapidly,  reached 
the  house  in  time  to  prepare  the  minds 
of  Mrs.  Norton  and  Aunt  Delia,  and  to 
get  rooms  and  beds  in  readiness  for  the 
sufferers,  and  despatch  messengers  for 
medical  aid. 

The  physician  who  examined  Philip 
shook  his  head  and  looked  grave,  al- 
though he  spoke  encouragingly.  The 
patient  was  suffering  principally  from 
shock  and  from  the  effects  of  the  smoke 
which  he  had  inhaled  in  such  quantities. 
His  burns  were  not  serious,  however, 
though  they  would  doubtless  be  pain- 
ful and  require  careful  nursing;  he 
proposed,  nevertheless,  to  spend  the 
night  with  his  patient,  and  asked  that  a 
trained  nurse  be  sent  for  at  once, 
while,  for  the  present  at  least,  every- 
body must  be  excluded  from  the  sick- 
room but  Aunt  Delia  and  himself. 

And  so,  after  the  poor  burned  hands 


284  Philip 

had  been  tenderly  dressed  and  the  little 
sufferer  made  as  clean  and  comfort- 
able as  possible,  the  silence  which  had 
been  so  imperatively  ordered  settled 
down  upon  the  sick-room,  and  there 
was  no  sound  but  the  quick,  irregular 
breathing  of  the  patient  and  the  ticking 
of  the  clock  on  the  mantel. 


Chapter  XX 
The  End 

LORD  ASHDEN  spent  that  night 
pacing  restlessly  up  and  down 
the  floor,  and  when  the  doctor  came 
out  of  the  sick-chamber  early  the  fol- 
lowing morning,  he  called  him  into  his 
room.  "  I  want  to  know,"  he  began  in 
a  strange,  monotonous  voice,  "just 
what  the  chances  are  for  the  boy's  life. 
No,  don't  try  to  spare  me,  please.  I 
prefer  to  know  the  truth." 

The  physician,  a  strictly  professional 
and  apparently  unsympathetic  man,  was 
moved  to  sudden  pity  as  he  remarked 
the  traces  of  intense  suffering  in  Lord 
Ashden's  face  and  manner: 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  he  said,  an  ex- 
385 


286  Philip 

pression  in  his  eyes  which  was  most 
unusual  to  them,  "  I  did  not  know  the 
little  chap  was  so  dear  to  you." 

"  He  is  all  I  have,"  said  Lord  Ashden 
quietly.  "  All  I  have,"  he  repeated 
as  though  to  himself,  and  then  he  went 
on: 

"  But  you  have  not  told  me  yet  what 
you  think  of  his  condition." 

It  was  the  strictly  professional  man 
who  spoke  this  time. 

"  It  is  difficult  to  tell  —  just  yet,"  he 
said.  "  The  burns  are  serious,  although 
not  necessarily  fatal,  and  there  has  been 
a  great  shock  to  the  general  system,  a 
very  great  shock  ;  the  action  of  the 
heart  is  weak,  and  there  is  a  deplorable 
lack  of  vitality  and  less  recuperative 
energy  than  I  could  wish  to  see.  How- 
ever"—  He  paused  and  looked  at 
Lord  Ashden  steadily. 

"  Go  on,"  he  said  almost  sternly,  and, 
taking  up  the  physician's  sentence,  he 


The  End  287 

added,  "you  have,  in  short,  little  en- 
couragement  to    offer  ?  " 

"  I  think,"  said  the  doctor  slowly, 
"that  the  boy's  chances  are  about 
even;  yes,  about  even,"  he  repeated, 
and  then  he  held  out  his  hand. 

"  I  must  go  now,"  he  said,  "  but  I  will 
return  in  a  few  hours.  And  be  assured, 
my  dear  sir,  that  everything  possible 
will  be  done." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Lord  Ashden, 
opening  the  door  to  allow  the  physician 
to  pass  through;  and  as  the  latter  went 
downstairs  he  heard  the  door  close 
again,  and  the  sound  of  a  key  turning 
in  the  lock. 

"  Poor  fellow  !  "  the  busy  surgeon 
said,  as  he  buttoned  up  his  coat  and 
went  briskly  down  the  steps,  "  poor 
fellow  ! " 

Toward  noon  of  that  day  Philip 
began  to  come  out  of  the  kind  of  stu- 
por in  which  he  had  lain  all  night.  He 


288  Philip 

smiled  faintly  at  Aunt  Delia  as  she 
leaned  over  the  bed,  and  tried  to  speak, 
but  he  was  too  weak,  and  presently  he 
closed  his  eyes  again.  He  suffered  a 
good  deal  from  the  burns,  which  quite 
covered  his  hands  and  arms,  and  as 
night  came  on  again  he  grew  restless 
and  feverish,  talking  incoherently  and 
sometimes  starting  up  in  bed;  once  he 
thought  the  manager  w^s  calling  him 
to  go  upon  the  stage  and  play. 

"  In  a  moment  !  "  he  cried,  and  then 
he  lay  back  upon  the  pillow,  smiling. 
"They  are  clapping,"  he  whispered; 
"  they  like  my  music,  I  think,  and  I  am 
glad  — for  Lord  Ashden's  sake."  After 
that  the  pain  grew  worse,  and  he 
tossed  restlessly  about  on  the  bed, 
sometimes  moaning,  and  muttering  in- 
distinctly to  himself;  now  and  then 
the  watchers  caught  a  word. 

"All  ready,  sir!  Is  it  my  turn  to  go 
on?  Are  they  all  there,  Aunt  Delia, 


The  End  289 

Lord  Ashden,  Miss  Acton?  All  but 
Marion,  I  don't  see  her.  Wouldn't  she 
stay  to  hear  me  play?  Oh,  yes,  there 
she  is,  sitting  between  Miss  Acton  and 
Lillie,  dear  little  Lillie!  I  must  play 
my  very  best  to-night." 

It  was  the  concert  —  always  the  con- 
cert; once  when  he  lay  so  quiet  that 
they  thought  he  was  asleep,  there  was 
a  distant  sound  of  the  barking  of  a  dog. 
"Dash!"  he  exclaimed,  opening  his 
eyes,  and  he  made  them  understand 
that  he  wanted  to  see  his  favorite. 
Aunt  Delia  hesitated,  but  the  nurse 
nodded  her  head,  and  the  little  dog 
was  sent  for  from  a  distant  part  of 
the  house  where  he  had  been  confined, 
an  unwilling  captive.  The  poor  little 
fellow  seemed  to  realize  that  some- 
thing dreadful  had  happened,  and  when 
he  wg,s  brought  to  Philip's  bed  he 
neither  fidgeted  nor  barked,  but  re- 
mained perfectly  quiet,  his  dumb, 


290  Philip 

loving  soul  looking  out  of  his  bright 
eyes.  Philip  tried  to  hold  out  his  poor 
bandaged  arms,  and  they  laid  the  dog 
gently  beside  him;  it  was  very  touch- 
ing to  see  the  joy  of  both;  Dash 
crawled  as  closely  as  he  could  to 
Philip's  side,  and  the  boy  lay  looking 
at  him  with  a  faint  smile  of  perfect  sat- 
isfaction. "Dear  little  Dash! "he  mur- 
mured, and  then  he  closed  his  eyes 
again.  That  night  he  grew  much 
worse,  and  Lord  Ashden,  pacing  rest- 
lessly about  in  the  adjoining  room, 
covered  his  ears  to  shut  out  the  sound 
of  groans  and  feeble  cries  which 
pierced  his  great  loving  heart  like 
sharp  knives.  He  was  trying  with  all 
his  might  to  reconcile  himself  to  the 
thought  of  giving  up  the  dear  child 
who  had  wound  himself  so  closely 
around  the  strong  man's  affections. 
"  She  was  taken  from  me,"  he  moaned 
"and  God  knows  I  loved  her;  and  now 


The  End  291 

he  is  going  too,  and  he  is  all  I  have  — 
all  I  have." 

Not  once  or  twice,  but  many  times, 
during  the  night  Aunt  Delia  stole  in  to 
comfort  him;  her  heart,  too,  was  very 
near  to  breaking,  but  she  had  learned  to 
say,  "  Thy  will  be  done,"  and  her  sweet 
wrinkled  face,  on  which  were  the  traces 
of  recent  tears,  wore  a  look  of  peace 
and  resignation  which  Lord  Ashden 
observed  with  wonder. 

"  Why  should  God  punish  us  in  this 
way?"  he  said  once,  and  his  compan- 
ion laid  her  fingers  gently  on  the  rebel- 
lious lips. 

"  Hush !  "  she  said ;  "  do  not  say  that, 
dear  friend;  when,  three  years  ago  (it 
seems  but  yesterday),  you  came  to  us 
and  asked  that  you  might  take  Philip 
to  Italy,  it  was  very  hard  to  give  him 
up,  yet  his  uncle  and'  I  knew  that  it 
was  for  the  boy's  best  good;  we  said 
'Go'  when  our  hearts  were  murmuring 


292  Philip 

t  Stay.'  Would  it  not  have  been 
selfish  to  have  kept  our  Philip  by  our 
side  in  the  narrow  circle  of  our  love 
and  care,  when  before  him  lay  the 
chance  of  the  life  of  Italy  and  the 
musical  training  which  he  so  needed 
and  wished  for?  And  now,  dear,  dear 
friend,  think  a  moment;  may  it  not  be 
something  the  same  way  now  ?  Surely 
our  Heavenly  Father  knows  what  is 
best  for  our  darling,  when  He  would 
take  him  from  our  clinging  arms  into 
the  fuller  life  of  light  and  love." 

She  paused  and  laid  her  hand  with 
the  most  caressing  tenderness  upon  the 
bowed  head  of  her  companion. 

"  You  will  be  brave,  I  know,  dear 
heart,"  she  whispered.  "  God  bless 
and  help  you." 

A  few  hours  later  the  whole  family 
were  gathered  in  a  sorrowful  group 
around  Philip's  bed.  The  end  was  very 
near,  the  doctor  said,  and  the  boy  had 


The  End  293 

asked  to  see  them,  calling  for  each  one 
by  name.  He  looked  about  upon  the 
familiar  faces,  his  own  shining  with  love 
and  peace,  and  there  was  no  trace 
of  fear  or  even  of  regret  in  his  calm, 
clear  eyes.  Strangely  enough,  it  was 
Marion's  name  which  he  spoke  first, 
and  he  tried  to  hold  out  his  hand,  stiff 
and  heavy  with  bandages,  as  she  knelt 
sobbing  beside  his  pillow.  "  Why  do 
you  cry  ? "  he  asked  wonderingly. 
"Not  for  me,  surely,  dear  cousin; 
there  is  no  pain  now,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  Philip,  Philip,"  cried  the  girl, 
"  forgive  me !  Only  say  that  you  for- 
give me." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  forgive,  dear 
Marion,"  replied  the  boy;  "  I  love 
you  very  much;  you  will  not  forget 
that  I  said  so,  will  you,  dear?"  And 
Miss  Acton  gently  led  the  weeping  girl 
from  the  room. 

Philip    followed    her    with    troubled 


294  Philip 

eyes,  and  then  he  turned  to  the  others; 
he  had  a  word  for  each,  but  his  chief 
thought  was  for  Lord  Ashden,  who  sat 
beside  the  bed,  outwardly  quite  calm, 
for  he  feared  to  disturb  Philip  by  any 
show  of  emotion;  he  even  tried  to  smile 
when  the  boy  looked  at  him,  and  bent 
low  over  the  pillow  to  hear  the  whis- 
pered words.  The  others  moved  away 
while  the  two  talked  together,  and  no 
one  else  heard  what  the  boy  said  to  his 
friend.  Once  or  twice  the  latter  gave  a 
great,  deep  sob,  and  Aunt  Delia  coming 
to  his  side  for  an  instant  heard  Philip 
whisper: 

"I  shall  see  her,  you  know,  Lord 
Ashden.  Do  you  suppose  she  will 
know  me  ?  " 

"  The  doctor  says  you  must  not  talk 
any  more  for  the  present,  dear  boy," 
whispered  Mrs.  Seldon  softly,  and  Philip 
looked  up  with  a  radiant  smile  and  a 
little  weary,  but  quite  contented,  sigh. 


The  End  295 

"  I  am  a  little  tired,"  he  murmured. 
"  I  will  sleep  awhile,"  and  he  closed  his 
eyes,  but  presently  he  opened  them 
again  and  looked  around  the  room. 
"  Are  they  all  here  ?  "  he  asked  faintly. 
"  I  cannot  quit*  see." 

"  We  are  all  here,"  replied  Lord  Ash- 
den  steadily;  and  Philip  looked  up 
languidly  and  smiled. 

He  lay  very  still  after  this,  only  open- 
ing his  eyes  once  when  Dash  moved  a 
little  closer  to  his  side.  The  nurse  would 
have  taken  the  dog  away,  but  Philip 
shook  his  head,  and  after  that  there  was 
perfect  stillness  in  the  room.  The  end 
came  very  quietly —  so  quietly  that  they 
thought  he  was  only  asleep,  until  the 
nurse  nodded  gravely  to  Aunt  Delia 
and  she  arose  and  put  her  arms  around 
Lord  Ashden,  whispering: 

"  Come,  dear  Frederick,  our  Philip 
has  gone  home." 


DATE  DUE 

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